THE    BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS 


THE 


BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS 


Romance  of  intt'an  ©regou 


BY  F.VH>"BALCH 


CHICAGO 

A.   C.   McCLURG    AND    COMPANY 
1890 


P/3 


D 


COPYRIGHT, 

BY    A.    C.    McCLURG   AND   CO. 
A.  D.  1800. 


TO 

MRS.   A.   E.   BARRETT. 


What  tall  and  tawny  men  were  these, 
As  sombre,  silent,  as  the  trees 
They  moved  among  !   and  sad  some  way 
With  tempered  sadness,  ever  they, 
Yet  not  with  sorrow  born  of  fear. 
The  shadows  of  their  destinies 
They  saw  approaching  year  by  year, 
And  murmured  not. 


They  turned  to  death  as  to  a  sleep, 
And  died  with  eager  hands  held  out 
To  reaching  hands  beyond  the  deep; 
And  died  with  choicest  bow  at  hand, 
And  quiver  full  and  arrow  drawn 
For  use,  when  sweet  to-morrow's  dawn 
Should  wake  them  in  the  Spirit  Land. 

JOAQUIN   MILLER. 


PREFACE. 


IN  attempting  to  present  with  romantic  setting  a 
truthful  and  realistic  picture  of  the  powerful  and 
picturesque  Indian  tribes  that  inhabited  the  Oregon 
country  two  centuries  ago,  the  author  could  not  be 
indifferent  to  the  many  serious  difficulties  inseparable 
from  such  an  enterprise.  Of  the  literary  success  with 
which  his  work  has  been  accomplished,  he  must  of  course 
leave  others  to  judge;  but  he  may  without  immodesty 
speak  briefly  of  his  preparation  for  his  task,  and  of  the 
foundation  of  some  of  the  facts  and  legends  which  form 
the  framework  of  his  story.  Indian  life  and  character 
have  long  been  a  favorite  study  with  him,  and  in  these 
pages  he  has  attempted  to  describe  them,  not  from  an 
ideal  standpoint,  but  as  he  knew  them  in  his  own  boy 
hood  on  the  Upper  Columbia.  Many  of  the  incidents 
related  in  the  story  have  come  under  his  personal  obser 
vation  ;  others  have  been  told  him  by  aged  pioneers,  or 
gleaned  from  old  books  of  Northwestern  travel.  The 
every-day  life  of  the  Indians,  their  food,  their  dress,  their 
methods  of  making  their  mats,  of  building  their  houses, 
of  shaping  their  canoes,  their  gambling  games,  their  re 
ligious  beliefs,  their  legends,  their  subjects  of  conversa 
tion,  the  sports  and  pastimes  of  their  children,  —  all  these 
have  been  studied  at  first  hand,  and  with  the  advantages 
of  familiar  and  friendly  intercourse  with  these  people  in 
their  own  homes.  By  constant  questioning,  many  facts 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

have  been  gained  regarding  their  ancestry,  and  the  frag 
ments  of  history,  tradition,  and  legend  that  have  come 
down  from  them.  Indian  antiquities  have  been  studied 
through  every  available  source  of  information.  All  the 
antiquarian  collections  in  Oregon  and  California  have 
been  consulted,  old  trading-posts  visited,  and  old  pioneers 
and  early  missionaries  conversed  with.  Nothing  has  been 
discarded  as  trivial  or  insignificant  that  could  aid  in  the 
slightest  degree  in  affording  an  insight  into  Indian  char 
acter  and  customs  of  a  by-gone  age. 

As  to  the  great  Confederacy  of  the  Wauna,  it  may 
be  said  that  Gray's  "  History  of  Oregon  "  tells  us  of  an 
alliance  of  several  tribes  on  the  Upper  Columbia  for  mu 
tual  protection  and  defence ;  and  students  of  Northwest 
ern  history  will  recall  the  great  confederacy  that  the 
Yakima  war-chief  Kamyakin  formed  against  the  whites 
in  the  war  of  1856,  when  the  Indian  tribes  were  in  revolt 
from  the  British  Possessions  to  the  California  line. 
Signal-fires  announcing  war  against  the  whites  leaped 
from  hill  to  hill,  flashing  out  in  the  night,  till  the  line  of 
fire  beginning  at  the  wild  Okanogan  ended  a  thousand 
miles  south,  on  the  foot-hills  of  Mount  Shasta.  Knowing 
such  a  confederacy  as  this  to  be  an  historical  fact,  there 
seems  nothing  improbable  in  that  part  of  the  legend 
which  tells  us  that  in  ancient  times  the  Indian  tribes 
on  either  side  of  the  Cascade  Range  united  under  the 
great  war-chief  Multnomah  against  their  hereditary  foes 
the  Shoshones.  Even  this  would  not  be  so  extensive  a 
confederacy  as  that  which  Kamyakin  formed  a  hundred 
and  fifty  years  later. 

It  may  be  asked  if  there  was  ever  a  great  natural  bridge 
over  the  Columbia,  —  a  "  Bridge  of  the  Gods,"  such  as  the 
legend  describes.  The  answer  is  emphatically,  "Yes." 
Everywhere  along  the  mid-Columbia  the  Indians  tell  of 
a  great  bridge  that  once  spanned  the  river  where  the 
cascades  now  are,  but  where  at  that  time  the  placid 


PREFA  CE.  IX 

current  flowed  under  an  arch  of  stone  ;  that  this  bridge 
was  tomanowos,  built  by  the  gods ;  that  the  Great  Spirit 
shook  the  earth,  and  the  bridge  crashed  down  into  the 
river,  forming  the  present  obstruction  of  the  cascades. 
All  of  the  Columbian  tribes  tell  this  story,  in  different 
versions  and  in  different  dialects,  but  all  agreeing  upon 
its  essential  features  as  one  of  the  great  facts  of  their 
past  history. 

"  Ancutta  (long  time  back),"  say  the  Tumwater  In 
dians,  "the  salmon  he  no  pass  Tumwater  falls.  It  too 
much  big  leap.  Snake  Indian  he  no  catch  um  fish 
above  falls.  By  and  by  great  tomanoivos  bridge  at 
cascades  he  fall  in,  dam  up  water,  make  river  higher  all 
way  up  to  Tumwater;  then  salmon  he  get  over.  Then 
Snake  Indian  all  time  catch  um  plenty." 

"  My  father  talk  one  time,"  said  an  old  Klickitat  to  a 
pioneer  at  White  Salmon,  Washington ;  "  long  time  ago 
liddle  boy,  him  in  canoe,  .his  mother  paddle,  paddle  up 
Columbia,  then  come  to  tomanowos  bridge.  Squaw  pad 
dle  canoe  under;  all  dark  under  bridge.  He  look  up,  all 
like  one  big  roof,  shut  out  sky,  no  see  um  sun.  Indian 
afraid,  paddle  quick,  get  past  soon,  no  good.  Liddle 
boy  no  forget  how  bridge  look." 

Local  proof  also  is  not  wanting.  In  the  fall,  when  the 
freshets  are  over  and  the  waters  of  the  Columbia  are 
clear,  one  going  out  in  a  small  boat  just  above  the  cas 
cades  and  looking  down  into  the  transparent  depths  can 
see  submerged  forest  trees  beneath  him,  still  standing 
upright  as  they  stood  before  the  bridge  fell  in  and  the 
river  was  raised  above  them.  It  is  a  strange,  weird  sight, 
this  forest  beneath  the  river;  the  waters  wash  over  the 
broken  tree-tops,  fish  swim  among  the  leafless  branches : 
it  is  desolate,  spectre-like,  beyond  all  words.  Scientific 
men  who  have  examined  the  field  with  a  view  to  deter 
mining  the  credibility  of  the  legend  about  the  bridge  are 
convinced  that  it  is  essentially  true.  Believed  in  by  many 


.X  PREFACE. 

'tribes,  attested  by  the  appearance  of  the  locality,  and 
confirmed  by  geological  investigation,  it  is  surely  entitled 
ito  be  .received  as  a  historic  fact. 

The  shipwreck  ,qf  an  Oriental  vessel  on  the  Oregon 
coast,  which  furnishes  one  of  the  most  romantic  elements 
in  our  story,  is  an  altogether  probable  historic  incident,  as 
explained  more  fully  in  a  foot-note  on  page  75. 

The  spelling  of  Indian  names,  in  which  authorities  differ 
so  widely,  has  been  made  as  accurate  as  possible ;  and, 
as  in  the  name  "  Wallulah,"  the  oldest  and  most  Indian- 
like  form  has  been  chosen.  An  exception  has  been  made 
in  the  case  of  the  modernized  and  corrupted  "  Willamette," 
which  is  used  instead  of  the  original  Indian  name,  "  Walla- 
met."  But  the  meaningless  "  Willamette "  has  unfortu 
nately  passed  into  such  general  use  that  one  is  almost 
compelled  to  accept  it.  Another  verbal  irregularity  should 
be  noticed:  Wauna,  the  name  given  by  all  the  Indians  in 
the  story  to  the  Columbia,  was  only  the  Klickitat  name  for 
it.  The  Indians  had  no  general  name  for  the  Columbia, 
but  each  tribe  had  a  special  name,  if  any,  for  it.  Some 
had  no  name  for  it  at  all.  It  was  simply  "the  big  water," 
"  the  river,"  "  the  big  salmon  water."  What  Wauna,  the 
Klickitat  name,  or  Wemath,  the  Wasco  name,  signifies, 
the  author  has  been  unable  to  learn,  even  from  the  In 
dians  who  gave  him  the  names.  They  do  not  know ; 
they  say  their  fathers  knew,  but  it  is  forgotten  now. 

A  rich  and  splendid  treasure  of  legend  and  lore  has 
passed  away  with  the  old  pioneers  and  the  Indians  of  the 
earlier  generation.  All  that  may  be  found  interesting 
in  this  or  any  other  book  on  the  Indians,  compared  to 
what  has  been  lost,  is  like  "a  torn  leaf  from  some  old 
romance." 

F.   H.  B. 

OAKLAND,  CALIFORNIA, 
September,  1890. 


CONTENTS. 


I. 

THE  APOSTLE    TO    THE   INDIANS. 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

I.    THE  NEW  ENGLAND  MEETING  .....  13 

II.    THE  MINISTER'S  HOME  ........  21 

III.  A  DARKENED  FIRESIDE      .......  31 

IV.  THE  COUNCIL  OF  ORDINATION  .....  39 
V.    INTO  TRACKLESS  WILDS     .......  47 


II. 

THE   OPENING  OF  THE  DRAMA. 

I.    SHALL  THE  GREAT  COUNCIL  BE  HELD  ?     .  53 

II.    THE  WAR-CHIEF  AND  THE  SEER  ....  69 

III.  WALLULAH     ............  74 

IV.  SENDING  OUT  THE  RUNNERS  ......  87 

23oofc  III. 

THE   GATHERING  OF  THE    TRIBES. 

I.    THE  BROKEN  PEACE-PIPE      ......  91 

II.    ON  THE  WAY  TO  THE  COUNCIL     ....  103 

III.  THE  GREAT  CAMP  ON  THE  ISLAND    ...  120 

IV.  AN  INDIAN  TRIAL      .........  131 

V.    SENTENCED  TO  THE  WOLF-DEATH  ....  142 


xii  CONTENTS. 

Book  IV. 

THE  LOVE    TALE. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  INDIAN  TOWN 151 

II.    THE  WHITE  WOMAN  IN  THE  WOOD    .    .  159 

III.  CECIL  AND  THE  WAR-CHIEF   .....  169 

IV.  ARCHERY  AND  GAMBLING 176 

V.    A  DEAD  QUEEN'S  JEWELS 181 

VI.    THE  TWILIGHT  TALE 191 

VII.    ORATOR  AGAINST  ORATOR 200 

VIII.    IN  THE  DARK 210 

IX.    QUESTIONING  THE  DEAD 217 


Book  V. 

THE  SHADOW  OF   THE  END. 

I.    THE  HAND  OF  THE  GREAT  SPIRIT  .    .    .  227 

II.    THE  MARRIAGE  AND  THE  BREAKING  UP  241 

III.  AT  THE  CASCADES 248 

IV.  MULTNOMAH'S  DEATH-CANOE 260 

V.    As  WAS  WRIT  IN  THE  BOOK  OF  FATE    .  268 


THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 


BOOK    I. 

THE  APOSTLE    TO   THE  INDIANS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE   NEW    ENGLAND   MEETING. 
Such  as  sit  in  darkness  and  the  shadow  of  death.  — Bible. 

E  Sabbath  morning  more  than  two  hundred 
years  ago,  the  dawn  broke  clear  and  beautiful 
over  New  England.  It  was  one  of  those  lovely 
mornings  that  seem  like  a  benediction,  a  smile  of 
God  upon  the  earth,  so  calm  are  they,  so  full  of  un 
utterable  rest  and  quiet.  Over  the  sea,  with  its  end 
less  line  of  beach  and  promontory  washed  softly  by 
the  ocean  swells  ;  over  the  towns  of  the  coast,  —  Bos 
ton  and  Salem,  —  already  large,  giving  splendid  prom 
ise  of  the  future ;  over  the  farms  and  hamlets  of  the 
interior,  and  into  the  rude  clearings  where  the  outer 
limits  of  civilization  mingled  with  the  primeval  forest, 
came  a  flood  of  light  as  the  sun  rose  above  the  blue 
line  of  eastern  sea.  And  still  beyond,  across  the 
Alleghanies,  into  the  depth  of  the  wilderness,  passed 
the  sweet,  calm  radiance,  as  if  bearing  a  gleam  of 
gospel  sunshine  to  the  Indians  of  the  forest. 


14       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

Nowhere  did  the  Sunday  seem  more  peaceful 
than  in  a  sheltered  valley  in  Massachusetts.  Beauti 
ful  indeed  were  the  thrifty  orchards,  the  rustic  farm 
houses,  the  meadows  where  the  charred  stumps  that 
marked  the  last  clearing  were  festooned  with  running 
vines,  the  fields  green  with  Indian  corn,  and  around 
all  the  sweep  of  hills  dark  with  the  ancient  wood. 
Even  the  grim  unpainted  meeting-house  on  the  hill, 
which  was  wont  to  look  the  very  personification  of 
the  rigid  Calvinistic  theology  preached  within  it, 
seemed  a  little  less  bare  and  forbidding  on  that 
sweet  June  Sabbath. 

As  the  hour  for  morning  service  drew  near,  the 
drummer  took  his  accustomed  stand  before  the 
church  and  began  to  thunder  forth  his  summons,  —  a 
summons  not  unfitting  those  stern  Puritans  whose 
idea  of  religion  was  that  of  a  life-long  warfare  against 
the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil. 

Soon  the  people  began  to  gather,  —  grave  men  and 
women,  dressed  in  the  sober-colored  garb  of  the  day, 
and  little  children,  clad  in  their  "  Sunday  best,"  un 
dergoing  the  awful  process  of  "  going  to  meeting,"  yet 
some  of  them,  at  least,  looking  at  the  cool  shadowed 
wood  as  they  passed,  and  thinking  how  pleasant  it 
would  be  to  hunt  berries  or  birds'  nests  in  those 
sylvan  retreats  instead  of  listening  to  a  two  hours' 
sermon,  under  imminent  danger  of  perdition  if  they 
went  to  sleep,  —  for  in  such  seductive  guise  did  the 
Evil  One  tempt  the  souls  of  these  youthful  Puritans. 
Solemn  of  visage  and  garb  were  the  groups,  although 
here  and  there  the  gleam  of  a  bit  of  ribbon  at  the 
throat  of  some  young  maiden,  or  a  bonnet  tastefully 
adorned,  showed  that  "  the  world,  the  flesh,  and 


THE  NEW  ENGLAND  MEETING.  15 

the    devil  "    were    not   yet   wholly   subdued    among 
them. 

As  the  audience  filed  through  the  open  door,  the 
men  and  women  divided,  the  former  taking  one  side 
of  the  house,  the  latter  the  other,  —  the  aisle  forming 
a  dividing  line  between  them.  The  floor  was  un- 
carpeted,  the  walls  bare,  the  pulpit  undraped,  and 
upon  it  the  hour-glass  stood  beside  the  open  Bible. 
Anything  more  stiff  and  barren  than  the  interior  of 
the  meeting-house  it  would  be  difficult  to  find. 

An  unwonted  stir  breaks  the  silence  and  solemnity 
of  the  waiting  congregation,  as  an  official  party  enters. 
It  is  the  Governor  of  the  colony  and  his  staff,  who  are 
making  a  tour  of  the  province,  and  have  stopped  over 
Sunday  in  the  little  frontier  settlement,  —  for  although 
the  Governor  is  an  august  man,  even  he  may  not  pre 
sume  to  travel  on  the  Sabbath  in  this  land  of  the 
Puritans.  The  new-comers  are  richly  dressed.  There 
is  something  heavy,  massive,  and  splendid  in  their 
garb,  especially  in  the  Governor's.  He  is  a  stately 
military- looking  man,  and  wears  his  ample  vestments, 
his  embroidered  gloves,  his  lace  and  ruffles,  with  a 
magisterial  air. 

A  rustle  goes  through  the  audience  as  the  distin 
guished  visitors  pass  up  the  aisle  to  the  front  seats 
assigned,  as  the  custom  was,  to  dignitaries.  Young 
people  steal  curious  glances  at  them  ;  children  turn 
around  in  their  seats  to  stare,  provoking  divers  shakes 
of  the  head  from  their  elders,  and  in  one  instance 
the  boxing  of  an  ear,  at  which  the  culprit  sets  up  a 
smothered  howl,  is  ignominiously  shaken,  and  sits 
swelling  and  choking  with  indignant  grief  during  the 
remainder  of  the  service. 


1 6  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

At  length  the  drum  ceased,  indicating  both  the 
arrival  of  the  minister  and  the  time  for  service  to 
begin. 

The  minister  took  his  place  in  the  pulpit.  He  was 
a  young  man,  of  delicate  mould,  with  a  pale  and  in 
tellectual  face.  Exquisite  sensitiveness  was  in  the 
large  gray  eyes,  the  white  brow,  the  delicate  lips,  the 
long  slender  fingers ;  yet  will  and  energy  and  com 
mand  were  in  them  all.  His  was  that  rare  union  of 
extreme  sensibility  with  strong  resolution  that  has 
given  the  world  its  religious  leaders,  —  its  Savonarolas 
and  Chrysostoms ;  men  whose  nerves  shrank  at  a  dis 
cord  in  music,  but  when  inspired  by  some  grand 
cause,  were  like  steel  to  suffer  and  endure. 

Something  of  this  was  in  the  minister's  aspect,  as 
he  stood  before  the  people  that  morning.  His  eyes 
shone  and  dilated,  and  his  slight  figure  gathered  dig 
nity  as  his  gaze  met  that  of  the  assembly.  There 
was  no  organ,  that  instrument  being  deemed  a  device 
of  the  Prince  of  Darkness  to  lead  the  hearts  of  the 
unwary  off  to  popery ;  but  the  "  opening  hymn  was 
heartily  sung.  Then  came  the  Scripture  reading,  — 
usually  a  very  monotonous  performance  on  the  part 
of  Puritan  divines ;  but  as  given  in  the  young  min 
ister's  thoughtfully  modulated  voice,  nothing  could 
have  been  more  expressive.  Every  word  had  its 
meaning,  every  metaphor  was  a  picture ;  the  whole 
psalm  seemed  to  breathe  with  life  and  power : 
"  Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  dwelling-place  in  all 
generations." 

Majestic,  mournful,  yet  thrilling  with  deathless 
hope,  was  the  minister's  voice ;  and  the  people  were 
deeply  moved.  The  prayer  followed,  —  not  the  end- 


THE  NEW  ENGLAND  MEETING.  17 

less  monologue  of  the  average  Puritan  clergyman,  but 
pointed,  significant,  full  of  meaning.  Again  his  face 
was  lifted  before  them  as  he  rose  to  announce  the 
text.  It  was  paler  now ;  the  eyes  were  glowing  and 
luminous ;  the  long,  expressive  fingers  were  tremulous 
with  excitement.  It  was  evident  to  all  that  no  com 
mon  subject  was  to  be  introduced,  no  common  effort 
to  be  made.  Always  composed,  the  audience  grew 
more  quiet  still.  The  very  children  felt  the  hush  of 
expectation,  and  gazed  wonderingly  at  the  minister. 
Even  that  great  man,  the  Governor,  lost  his  air  of 
unbending  grandeur,  and  leaned  expectantly  forward. 

The  subject  was  Paul's  vision  of  the  man  in  Mace 
donia  crying  for  help.  The  speaker  portrayed  in  burn 
ing  words  the  condition  of  Macedonia,  the  heathen 
gloom  and  utter  hopelessness  of  her  people,  the  vision 
that  came  to  Paul,  and  his  going  to  preach  to  them. 
Then,  passing  to  England  under  the  Druids,  he  de 
scribed  the  dark  paganism,  the  blood-stained  altars, 
the  brutal  priesthood  of  the  age ;  and  told  of  the  cry 
that  went  forth  for  light,  —  a  cry  that  touched  the 
heart  of  the  Roman  Gregory  into  sending  missionaries 
to  show  them  the  better  way. 

Like  some  royal  poem  was  the  discourse,  as  it 
showed  how,  through  the  storms  and  perils  of  more 
than  a  thousand  years,  amid  the  persecution  of  popes, 
the  wars  of  barons,  and  the  tyranny  of  kings,  England 
had  kept  the  torch  burning,  till  in  these  latter  times 
it  had  filled  the  world  with  light.  Beautiful  was  the 
tribute  he  paid  to  the  more  recent  defenders  of  the 
faith,  and  most  intense  the  interest  of  the  listeners ; 
for  men  sat  there  who  had  come  over  the  seas  be 
cause  of  their  loyalty  to  the  faith,  —  old  and  grizzled 
2 


1 8  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

men,  whose  youth  had  known  Cromwell  and  Charles 
Stuart,  and  who  had  in  more  recent  years  fought  for 
"  King  Monmouth  "  and  shared  the  dark  fortunes  of 
Argyle. 

The  old  Governor  was  roused  like  a  veteran  war- 
horse  at  the  sound  of  the  trumpet ;  many  faces  were 
flushed  with  martial  ardor.  The  young  minister 
paused  reflectively  at  the  enthusiasm  he  had  kindled. 
A  sorrowful  smile  flitted  around  his  lips,  though  the 
glow  of  inspiration  was  still  burning  in  his  eyes. 
Would  they  be  as  enthusiastic  when  he  made  the  ap 
plication  of  his  discourse? 

And  yet  England,  yea,  even  New  England,  was 
false,  disloyal.  She  had  but  half  kept  the  faith. 
When  the  cry  of  pagan  England  had  gone  forth  for 
light,  it  had  been  heard ;  the  light  had  been  given. 
But  now  in  her  day  of  illumination,  when  the  Mace 
donian  cry  came  to  her,  she  closed  her  ears  and  lis 
tened  not.  On  her  skirts  was  the  blood  of  the  souls 
of  men ;  and  at  the  last  day  the  wail  of  the  heathen 
as  they  went  down  into  the  gulf  of  flame  would  bear 
witness  against  her. 

Grave  and  impassioned,  with  an  undertone  of  warn 
ing  and  sorrow,  rang  the  voice  of  the  minister,  and 
the  hearts  of  the  people  were  shaken  as  though  a 
prophet  were  speaking. 

"  Out  from  the  forests  around  us  come  the  cry  of 
heathen  folk,  and  ye  will  not  listen.  Ye  have  the 
light,  and  they  perish  in  darkness  and  go  down  to 
the  pit.  Generation  after  generation  has  grown  up 
here  in  forest  and  mountain,  and  has  lived  and  died 
without  God  and  without  hope.  Generation  has  fol 
lowed  generation,  stumbling  blindly  downward  to  the 


THE  NEW  ENGLAND  MEETING.  19 

dust  like  the  brutes  that  perish.  And  now  their  chil 
dren,  bound  in  iron  and  sitting  under  the  shadow  of 
death,  reach  out  their  hands  from  the  wilderness  with 
a  blind  cry  to  you  for  help.  Will  ye  hear?  " 

He  lifted  his  hands  to  them  as  he  spoke;  there 
was  infinite  pathos  in  his  voice ;  for  a  moment  it 
seemed  as  if  all  the  wild  people  of  the  wilderness 
were  pleading  through  him  for  light.  Tears  were  in 
many  eyes;  yet  in  spite  of  the  wonderful  power  of 
his  oratory,  there  were  faces  that  grew  stern  as  he 
spoke,  —  for  only  a  few  years  had  passed  since  the 
Pequod  war,  and  the  feeling  against  the  Indians  was 
bitter.  The  Governor  now  sat  erect  and  indignant. 

Strong  and  vehement  was  the  minister's  plea  for 
missionaries  to  be  sent  to  the  Indians ;  fearlessly 
was  the  colonial  government  arraigned  for  its  defi 
ciencies  in  this  regard ;  and  the  sands  in  the  hour 
glass  were  almost  run  out  when  the  sermon  was  con 
cluded  and  the  minister  sank  flushed  and  exhausted 
into  his  seat. 

The  closing  psalm  was  sung,  and  the  audience  was 
dismissed.  Slow  and  lingering  were  the  words  of  the 
benediction,  as  if  the  preacher  were  conscious  of  de 
feat  and  longed  to  plead  still  further  with  his  peo 
ple.  Then  the  gathering  broke  up,  the  congregation 
riling  out  with  the  same  solemnity  that  had  marked 
the  entrance.  But  when  the  open  air  was  reached, 
the  pent-up  excitement  burst  forth  in  a  general  mur 
mur  of  comment. 

"  A  good  man,"  remarked  the  Governor  to  his 
staff,  "but  young,  quite  young."  And  they  smiled 
approvingly  at  the  grim  irony  of  the  tone. 

"  Our  pastor  is  a  fine  speaker,"  said  another,  "  but 


20       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

why  will  he  bring  such  unpleasant  things  into  the  pul 
pit?  A  good  doctrinal  sermon,  now,  would  have 
strengthened  our  faith  and  edified  us  all." 

"  Ay,  a  sermon  on  the  errors  of  Episcopacy,  for 
instance." 

"  Such  talk  makes  me  angry,"  growled  a  third. 
"  Missionaries  for  the  Indians  !  when  the  bones  of 
the  good  folk  they  have  killed  are  yet  bleaching  amid 
the  ashes  of  their  cabins  !  Missionaries  for  those  red 
demons  !  an'  had  it  been  powder  and  shot  for  them 
it  had  been  a  righteous  sermon." 

So  the  murmur  of  disapprobation  went  on  among 
those  slowly  dispersing  groups  who  dreaded  and  hated 
the  Indian  with  an  intensity  such  as  we  now  can  hardly 
realize.  And  among  them  came  the  minister,  pale 
and  downcast,  realizing  that  he  had  dashed  himself 
in  vain  against  the  stern  prejudice  of  his  people  and 
his  age. 


THE  MINISTER'S  HOME.  21 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE  MINISTER'S  HOME. 

Sore  have  I  panted  at  the  sun's  decline, 
To  pass  with  him  into  the  crimson  West, 
And  see  the  peoples  of  the  evening. 

EDWIN  ARNOLD. 

HTHE  Reverend  Cecil  Grey,  —  for  such  was  our 
-*•  young  minister's  name,  —  proceeded  immedi 
ately  after  the  service  to  his  home.  Before  we  cross 
its  threshold  with  him,  let  us  pause  for  a  moment  to 
look  back  over  his  past  life. 

Born  in  New  England,  he  first  received  from  his 
father,  who  was  a  fine  scholar,  a  careful  home  train 
ing,  and  was  then  sent  to  England  to  complete  his 
education.  At  Magdalen  College,  Oxford,  he  spent 
six  years.  Time  passed  very  happily  with  him  in  the 
quiet  cloisters  of  that  most  beautiful  of  English  col 
leges,  with  its  memories  of  Pole  and  Rupert,  and  the 
more  courtly  traditions  of  the  state  that  Richard  and 
Edward  had  held  there.  But  when,  in  1687,  James 
II.  attempted  to  trample  on  the  privileges  of  the  Fel 
lows  and  force  upon  them  a  popish  president,  Cecil 
was  one  of  those  who  made  the  famous  protest  against 
it ;  and  when  protests  availed  nothing,  he  left  Oxford, 
as  also  did  a  number  of  others.  Returning  to  Amer 
ica,  he  was  appointed  pastor  of  a  New  England 
church,  becoming  one  of  the  many  who  carried  the 


22       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

flower  of  scholarship  and  eloquence  into  the  bleak 
wilds  of  the  New  World. 

Restless,  sensitive,  ardent,  he  was  a  man  to  whom 
a  settled  pastorate  was  impossible.  Daring  enter 
prises,  great  undertakings  of  a  religious  nature  yet  full 
of  peril,  were  the  things  for  which  he  was  naturally 
fitted;  and  amid  the  monotonous  routine  of  parish 
duties  he  longed  for  a  greater  activity.  Two  centuries 
later  he  might  have  become  distinguished  as  a  revi 
valist  or  as  a  champion  of  new  and  startling  views  of 
theology ;  earlier,  he  might  have  been  a  reformer,  a 
follower  of  Luther  or  Loyola ;  as  it  was,  he  was  out 
of  his  sphere. 

But  for  a  time  the  Reverend  Mr.  Grey  tried  hard 
to  mould  himself  to  his  new  work.  He  went  with 
anxious  fidelity  through  all  the  labors  of  the  country 
pastorate.  He  visited  and  prayed  with  the  sick,  he 
read  the  Bible  to  the  old  and  dim- sighted,  he  tried  to 
reconcile  petty  quarrels,  he  wrestled  with  his  own 
discontent,  and  strove  hard  to  grind  down  all  the 
aspirations  of  his  nature  and  shut  out  the  larger 
horizon  of  life. 

And  for  a  time  he  was  successful ;  but  during  it  he 
was  induced  to  take  a  very  fatal  step.  He  was  young, 
handsome,  a  clergyman,  and  unmarried.  Now  a 
young  unmarried  minister  is  pre-eminently  one  of 
sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief.  For  that  large 
body  of  well-meaning  people  who  are  by  nature  in 
capacitated  from  attending  to  their  own  business  take 
him  in  hand  without  mercy.  Innumerable  are  the 
ways  in  which  he  is  informed  that  he  ought  to  be  mar 
ried.  Subtle  and  past  finding  out  are  the  plots  laid  by 
all  the  old  ladies  and  match-makers  of  his  church  to 


THE  MINISTER'S  HOME.  23 

promote  that  desired  event.  He  is  told  that  he  can 
never  succeed  in  the  ministry  till  he  is  married.  The 
praises  of  Matilda  Jane  Tompkins  or  Lucinda  Brown 
are  sounded  in  his  ears  till  he  almost  wishes  that 
both  were  in  a  better  world,  —  a  world  more  wor 
thy  their  virtues.  At  length,  wearily  capitulating,  he 
marries  some  wooden-faced  or  angular  saint,  and  is 
unhappy  for  life. 

Now  there  was  in  Mr.  Grey's  church  a  good,  gentle 
girl,  narrow  but  not  wooden-faced,  famous  for  her 
neatness  and  her  housekeeping  abilities,  who  was 
supposed  to  be  the  pattern  for  a  minister's  wife.  In 
time  gone  by  she  had  set  her  heart  on  a  graceless 
sailor  lad  who  was  drowned  at  sea,  much  to  the  relief 
of  her  parents.  Ruth  Anderson  had  mourned  for  him 
quietly,  shutting  up  her  sorrow  in  her  own  breast  and 
going  about  her  work  as  before ;  for  hers  was  one  of 
those  subdued,  practical  natures  that  seek  relief  from 
trouble  in  hard  work. 

She  seemed  in  the  judgment  of  all  the  old  women 
in  the  church  the  "very  one"  for  Mr.  Grey;  and  it 
likewise  seemed  that  Mr.  Grey  was  the  "  very  one  "  for 
her.  So  divers  hints  were  dropped  and  divers  things 
were  said,  until  each  began  to  wonder  if  marriage 
were  not  a  duty.  The  Reverend  Cecil  Grey  began 
to  take  unusual  pains  with  his  toilet,  and  wended  his 
way  up  the  hill  to  Mr.  Anderson's  with  very  much  the 
aspect  of  a  man  who  is  going  to  be  hanged.  And  his 
attempts  at  conversation  with  the  maiden  were  not  at 
all  what  might  have  been  expected  from  the  young 
minister  whose  graceful  presence  and  fluent  eloquence 
had  been  the  boast  of  Magdalen.  On  her  part  the 
embarrassment  was  equally  great.  At  length  they 


24       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

were  married,  —  a  marriage  based  on  a  false  idea  of 
duty  on  each  side.  But  no  idea  of  duty,  however 
strong  or  however  false,  could  blind  the  eyes  of  this 
married  pair  to  the  terrible  fact  that  not  only  love  but 
mental  sympathy  was  wanting.  Day  by  day  Cecil 
felt  that  his  wife  did  not  love  him,  that  her  thoughts 
were  not  for  him,  that  it  was  an  effort  for  her  to  act 
the  part  of  a  wife  toward  him.  Day  by  day  she  felt 
that  his  interests  lay  beyond  her  reach,  and  that  all 
the  tenderness  in  his  manner  toward  her  came  from 
a  sense  of  duty,  not  from  love. 

But  she  strove  in  all  ways  to  be  a  faithful  wife,  and 
he  tried  hard  to  be  a  kind  and  devoted  husband. 
He  had  been  especially  attentive  to  her  of  late,  for 
her  health  had  been  failing,  and  the  old  doctor  had 
shaken  his  head  very  gravely  over  her.  For  a  week 
or  more  she  had  grown  steadily  worse,  and  was  now 
unable  even  to  walk  without  help.  Her  malady  was 
one  of  those  that  sap  away  the  life  with  a  swift  and 
deadly  power  against  which  all  human  skill  seems 
unavailing. 

Mr.  Grey  on  returning  from  church  entered  the 
living  room.  The  invalid  sat  at  the  window,  a  heavy 
shawl  wrapped  about  her,  her  pale  face  turned  to  the 
far  blue  line  of  sea,  visible  through  a  gap  in  the  hills. 
A  pang  wrenched  his  heart  keenly  at  the  sight.  Why 
would  she  always  sit  at  that  window  looking  so  sor 
rowfully,  so  abstractedly  at  the  sea,  as  if  her  heart 
was  buried  there  with  her  dead  lover? 

She  started  as  she  heard  his  footstep,  and  turned 
her  head  quickly  toward  him,  a  faint  flush  tinging  her 
cheek  and  a  forced  smile  quivering  around  her  lips. 
Her  greeting  was  very  gentle,  and  he  saw  that  her 


THE  MINISTER'S  HOME.  25 

heart  was  reproaching  her  for  being  so  disloyal  to 
him  as  to  think  of  her  lost  lover;  and  yet  he  felt 
her  ringers  tremble  and  shrink  away  from  his  as  he 
took  her  hand. 

"  God  forgive  me  !  "  he  thought,  with  infinite  self- 
accusation.  "  How  repugnant  I  must  be  to  her,  — 
an  intruder,  thrusting  myself  into  the  heart  that  is 
sacred  to  the  dead." 

But  he  let  her  see  nothing  of  this  in  his  voice  or 
manner  as  he  inquired  how  she  had  been.  She  re 
plied  wearily  that  she  was  no  better,  that  she  longed 
to  get  well  again  and  be  at  work. 

"  I  missed  your  sermon  to-day,"  she  said,  with  that 
strained,  pathetic  smile  upon  her  lips  again.  "  You 
must  tell  me  about  it  now." 

He  drew  his  chair  to  her  side  and  began  to  give 
an  outline  of  the  sermon.  She  listened,  but  it  was 
with  forced  attention,  without  sympathy,  without  in 
the  least  entering  into  the  spirit  of  what  he  was  say 
ing.  It  pained  him.  He  knew  that  her  nature  was 
so  narrow,  so  conventional,  that  it  was  impossible 
for  her  to  comprehend  his  grand  scheme  of  Indian 
evangelization.  But  he  checked  his  impatience,  and 
gave  her  a  full  synopsis  of  the  discourse. 

"  It  is  useless,  useless.  They  cannot  understand. 
A  whole  race  is  perishing  around  them,  and  they  will 
not  put  forth  a  hand  save  to  mistreat  a  Quaker  or 
throw  a  stone  at  a  Churchman.  Our  Puritanism  is 
like  iron  to  resist  tyranny,  —  but  alas  !  it  is  like  iron, 
too,  when  one  tries  to  bend  it  to  some  generous 
undertaking." 

He  stopped,  checking  back  other  and  more  bitter 
words.  All  his  soul  rose  up  in  revolt  against  the  prej- 


26       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

udice  by  which  he  was  surrounded.  Then  Ruth 
spoke  timidly. 

"  Seeing  that  it  is  so,  would  it  not  be  best  to  let 
this  missionary  subject  go,  and  preach  on  practical 
every-day  matters  ?  I  am  not  wise  in  these  things,  I 
know  ;  but  would  it  not  be  better  to  preach  on  com 
mon  subjects,  showing  us  how  we  ought  to  live  from 
day  to  day,  than  to  discourse  of  those  larger  things 
that  the  people  do  not  understand?" 

His  face  darkened,  though  not  angrily.  This  was 
the  same  prejudice  he  had  just  encountered  in  the 
meeting-house,  though  in  a  different  form.  He  arose 
and  paced  back  and  forth  with  quick,  impatient  steps. 
Then  he  came  and  stood  before  her  with  folded  arms 
and  resolute  face. 

"  Ruth,  I  have  tried  that  so  often,  tried  it  with  pray 
ers  and  tears,  but  it  is  utterly  impossible.  I  cannot 
bring  myself  to  it.  You  know  what  the  physicians 
say  of  my  disease  of  the  heart,  —  that  my  life  may  be 
very  short ;  and  I  want  it  to  be  noble.  I  want  to 
live  for  the  greatest  possibilities  within  my  reach.  I 
want  to  set  some  great  work  in  motion  that  will 
light  up  thousands  of  darkened  lives,  —  yea,  and 
grow  in  might  and  power  even  after  my  lips  are  sealed 
in  death." 

The  little  figure  on  the  chair  moved  uneasily  under 
his  animated  though  kindly  gaze. 

"  I  do  not  quite  comprehend  you.  I  think  the  best 
work  is  to  do  what  God  gives  us  to  do,  and  to  do  it  well. 
To  me  he  has  given  to  labor  in  caring  for  the  house," 
—  there  was  a  patient  weariness  in  her  tone  that  did 
not  escape  Cecil,  —  "  to  you  he  has  given  the  duties 
of  a  pastor,  to  strengthen  the  weak,  cheer  the  sorrow- 


THE  MINISTER'S  HOME.  27 

ing,  comfort  the  old.  Is  it  not  better  to  do  those 
things  faithfully  than  to  spend  our  time  longing  for 
some  more  ideal  work  not  given  us?" 

"  But  suppose  the  ideal  work  is  given  ?  Suppose 
a  man  is  called  to  proclaim  new  truths,  and  be  the 
leader  in  a  new  reform?  For  him  the  quiet  pastor 
ate  is  impossible ;  nay,  were  it  possible,  it  would  be 
wrong,  for  would  he  not  be  keeping  back  the  mes 
sage  God  had  given  him?  He  would  be  one  called 
to  a  work,  yet  entering  not  upon  it ;  and  upon  him 
would  come  the  curse  that  fell  on  the  unfaithful 
prophets  of  old." 

All  the  gloom  of  the  theology  of  his  age  was  on 
him  as  he  spoke.  Refined  and  poetic  as  was  his 
nature,  it  was  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  Calvinism 
of  early  New  England. 

She  lifted  her  hand  wearily  and  passed  it  over  her 
aching  brow. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  said  ;  "  I  have  never  thought 
of  such  things,  only  it  seems  to  me  that  God  knew 
best  when  he  gave  us  our  lots  in  life.  Surely  wher 
ever  we  find  ourselves,  there  he  intended  us  to  be, 
and  there  we  should  patiently  work,  leaving  our 
higher  aspirations  to  his  will.  Is  not  the  ideal  life, 
after  all,  the  one  that  is  kindest  and  humblest?" 

"  But,  Ruth,"  replied  the  minister,  sadly,  "  while 
the  work  you  describe  is  certainly  noble,  I  have  yet 
felt  for  a  long  time  that  it  is  not  what  God  calls  me 
to.  Day  after  day,  night  after  night,  I  think  of  the 
wild  races  that  roam  the  forests  to  the  west,  of  which 
no  man  knows  the  end.  Sometimes  I  think  that  I 
am  called  to  stand  before  the  rulers  of  the  colony 
and  plead  that  missionaries  be  sent  to  the  Indians. 


28       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

Sometimes  I  feel  that  I  am  called  to  go  and  preach 
to  them  myself.  Often  in  my  dreams  I  plead  with 
dark-browed  sachems  or  with  mighty  gatherings  of 
warriors  to  cast  away  their  blood-stained  weapons 
and  accept  Christ,  till  I  awake  all  trembling  with  the 
effort.  And  always  the  deadly  pain  at  my  heart 
warns  me  that  what  is  done  must  be  done  quickly." 

The  burning  ardor  that  had  given  such  intensity  to 
his  sermon  came  into  his  voice  as  he  spoke.  The  in 
valid  moved  nervously  on  her  chair,  and  he  saw  that 
his  enthusiasm  merely  jarred  on  her  without  awaken 
ing  any  response. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "  I  forgot  that 
you  were  not  well  enough  to  talk  of  those  things. 
Sometime  when  you  are  better  we  will  speak  of  them 
again." 

And  then  he  talked  of  other  and  to  her  more  in 
teresting  topics,  while  a  keen  pang  rankled  in  his 
breast  to  find  her  irresponsive  to  that  which  was  so 
dear  to  him. 

But  he  was  very  kind  to  her ;  and  when  after  a 
while  the  old  Indian  woman,  Cecil's  nurse  in  child 
hood  and  their  only  servant  now,  came  to  tell  him 
that  dinner  was  ready,  he  would  not  go  until  he  had 
first  brought  his  wife  her  dinner  and  waited  on  her 
with  his  own  hands. 

After  his  own  repast  was  finished  he  must  hasten 
away  to  preach  his  afternoon  sermon.  But  he  came 
to  her  first  and  bent  over  her ;  for  though  love  never 
had  been,  perhaps  never  could  be,  between  them,  there 
was  a  deep  domestic  feeling  in  his  nature. 

"  How  good  and  patient  you  are  in  your  sickness," 
he  said,  gazing  down  into  the  quiet,  wistful  face  that 


THE  MINISTER'S  HOME.  29 

was  so  honest  and  true,  yet  so  thoroughly  prosaic  and 
commonplace.  "  What  a  sermon  you  have  been 
preaching  me,  sitting  here  so  uncomplainingly." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  she  said,  looking  up  grate 
fully.  "  I  am  glad.  I  so  want  to  do  my  duty  by 
you." 

He  had  meant  to  kiss  her  as  he  bent  over  her, 
though  such  caresses  were  rare  between  them,  but 
there  was  something  in  her  tones  that  chilled  him, 
and  he  merely  raised  a  tress  of  her  hair  to  his  lips 
instead.  At  the  door  he  bade  her  a  pleasant  farewell, 
but  his  countenance  grew  sorrowful  as  he  went  down 
the  path. 

"  Duty,"  he  murmured,  "  always  duty,  never  love. 
Well,  the  fault  is  my  own  that  we  were  ever  married. 
God  help  me  to  be  true  and  kind  to  her  always.  She 
shall  never  know  that  I  miss  anything  in  her." 

And  he  preached  to  his  congregation  that  after 
noon  a  sermon  on  burden-bearing,  showing  how  each 
should  bear  his  own  burden  patiently,  —  not  darkening 
the  lives  of  others  by  complaint,  but  always  saying 
loving  words,  no  matter  how  much  of  heartache  lay 
beneath  them.  He  told  how  near  God  is  to  us  all, 
ready  to  heal  and  to  strengthen ;  and  closed  by  show 
ing  how  sweet  and  beautiful  even  a  common  life  may 
grow  through  brave  and  self-sacrificing  endurance  of 
trouble. 

It  was  a  helpful  sermon,  a  sermon  that  brought 
the  listeners  nearer  God.  More  than  one  heart  was 
touched  by  those  earnest  words  that  seemed  to  breathe 
divine  sympathy  and  compassion. 

He  went  home  feeling  more  at  peace  than  he  had 
done  for  many  days.  His  wife's  room  was  still,  as  he 


30       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

entered  it.  She  was  in  her  easy-chair  at  the  window, 
lying  back  among  the  pillows  asleep.  Her  face  was 
flushed  and  feverish,  her  long  lashes  wet  with  tears. 
The  wraps  had  fallen  away  from  her,  and  he  stooped 
over  to  replace  them.  As  he  did  so  her  lips  moved 
in  her  half- delirious  slumber,  and  she  murmured  some 
name  sounding  like  his  own.  A  wild  throb  of  joy 
thrilled  through  him,  and  he  bent  closer  to  listen. 
Again  she  spoke  the  name,  spoke  it  sorrowfully,  long 
ingly.  It  was  the  name  of  her  lover  drowned  at  sea. 

The  long,  nervous  fingers  that  held  the  half- drawn 
wraps  shook  convulsively  as  with  acutest  pain,  then 
drew  the  coverings  gently  around  her. 

"  God  help  her,  God  help  her  !  "  he  murmured,  as 
he  turned  softly  away,  his  eyes  filling  with  tears,  — 
tears  for  her  sorrow  rather  than  his  own. 


A   DARKENED  FIRESIDE.  31 


CHAPTER    III. 
A   DARKENED   FIRESIDE. 

.  .  .  Her  way  is  parted  from  my  way  ; 
Out  of  sight,  beyond  light,  at  what  goal  may  we  meet  ? 

DANTE  ROSSETTI. 

RUTH  was  much  worse  in  the  evening,  but  at 
last,  after  Cecil  had  watched  at  her  side  till  a 
late  hour,  she  sank  into  a  troubled  sleep.  Then  the 
old  Indian  servant  insisted  on  taking  his  place  at  the 
sufferer's  bedside,  for  she  saw  that  he  was  much  worn 
by  the  labors  of  the  day  and  by  anxiety  for  his  wife. 
At  first  he  refused ;  but  she  was  a  skilled  nurse,  and 
he  knew  that  the  invalid  would  fare  better  in  her 
hands  than  his  own,  so  at  last  he  consented  on  con 
dition  that  she  would  call  him  if  his  wife  grew  worse. 
The  woman  promised,  and  he  withdrew  into  the 
library,  where  a  temporary  bed  had  been  made  for 
him.  At  the  door  he  turned  and  looked  back. 

His  wife  lay  with  closed  eyes  and  flushed  face  amid 
the  white  pillows.  The  robe  over  her  breast  stirred 
with  her  difficult  breathing,  and  her  head  turned  now 
and  then  from  side  to  side  while  she  uttered  broken, 
feverish  words.  By  her  sat  the  swarthy  nurse,  watch 
ing  her  every  movement  and  ready  with  observant 
eye  and  gentle  touch  to  minister  to  all  her  needs. 

A  yearning  tenderness  and  pity  came  into  his  gaze. 
"  Poor  child,  poor  child  !  "  he  thought.  "  If  I  could 
only  make  her  well  and  happy  !  If  I  could  only  bring 


32       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

her  dead  lover  back  to  life,  how  gladly  would  I  put 
her  in  his  arms  and  go  away  forever ! "  And  it 
seemed  to  him  in  some  dim  way  that  he  had  wronged 
the  poor  sufferer;  that  he  was  to  blame  for  her 
sorrow. 

He  went  on  into  the  library.  A  lamp  was  burning 
on  the  table  ;  a  Hebrew  Bible  and  a  copy  of  Homer  lay 
beside  it.  Along  the  walls  were  arranged  those  heavy 
and  ponderous  tomes  in  which  the  theology  of  the  age 
was  wont  to  clothe  itself. 

He  seated  himself  at  the  table  and  took  up  his 
Homer ;  for  he  was  too  agitated  to  sleep.  But  it  was 
in  vain  that  he  tried  to  interest  himself  in  it.  The 
rhythm  had  lost  its  music,  the  thought  its  power ;  it 
was  in  vain  that  he  tried  to  forget  himself  in  the 
reply  of  Achilles,  or  the  struggle  over  the  body  of 
Patroclus. 

Hawthorne  tells  us  that  a  person  of  artistic  tem 
perament  may  at  a  time  of  mental  depression  wander 
through  the  Roman  galleries  and  see  nothing  in  the 
finest  masterpieces  of  Raphael  or  Angelo.  The 
grace  is  gone  from  the  picture,  the  inspiration  from 
the  marble;  the  one  is  a  meaningless  collection  of 
colors,  the  other  a  dull  effigy  carved  in  stone. 

Something  of  this  mood  wras  on  Cecil  to-night. 
Irresponsive  to  the  grand  beauty  of  the  poem,  he  felt 
only  its  undertone  of  heartache  and  woe. 

"  It  is  like  human  life,"  he  thought,  as  he  listlessly 
turned  the  pages ;  "  it  is  bright  on  the  surface,  but 
dark  and  terrible  with  pain  below.  What  a  black 
mystery  is  life  !  what  bitter  irony  of  justice  !  Hector 
is  dragged  at  Achilles'  chariot- wheel,  and  Paris  goes 
free.  Helen  returns  to  her  home  in  triumph,  while 


A   DARKENED  FIRESIDE.  33 

Andromache  is  left  desolate.  Did  Homer  write  in 
satire,  and  is  the  Iliad  but  a  splendid  mockery  of 
justice,  human  and  divine?  Or  is  life  so  sad  that 
every  tale  woven  of  it  must  needs  become  a  tragedy?  " 

He  pondered  the  gloomy  puzzle  of  human  exis 
tence  long  that  night.  At  length  his  brain  grew 
over-weary,  and  he  slept  sitting  in  his  chair,  his  head 
resting  on  the  pages  of  the  open  book. 

How  long  he  slept  he  knew  not,  but  he  awoke  with 
a  start  to  find  a  hand  laid  on  his  shoulder  and  the  tall 
figure  of  the  Indian  woman  standing  beside  him.  He 
sprang  up  in  sudden  fear. 

"  Is  she  worse?"  he  cried.  But  the  woman,  with 
that  light  noiseless  step,  that  mute  stolidity  so  char 
acteristic  of  her  race,  had  already  glided  to  the  door ; 
and  there  was  no  need  for  her  to  answer,  for  already 
his  own  apprehensions  had  replied. 

He  was  in  the  room  almost  as  soon  as  she.  His 
wife  was  much  worse  ;  and  hastening  through  the 
night  to  a  neighboring  farmhouse,  he  roused  its  in 
mates,  despatched  a  messenger  for  the  physician,  and 
returned,  accompanied  by  several  members  of  the 
neighbor's  family. 

The  slow  moments  dragged  away  like  years  as  they 
watched  around  her.  It  seemed  as  if  the  doctor 
would  never  come.  To  the  end  of  his  life  Cecil  never 
forgot  the  long-drawn  agony  of  that  night. 

At  length  their  strained  hearing  caught  the  quick 
tread  of  horses'  hoofs  on  the  turf  without. 

"The  doctor,  the  doctor!"  came  simultaneously 
from  the  lips  of  Cecil  and  the  watchers.  The  doctor, 
—  there  was  hope  in  the  very  name. 

How  eagerly  they  watched  his  face  as  he  bent  over 
3 


34       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

the  patient !  It  was  a  calm,  self-contained  face,  but 
they  saw  a  shadow  flit  over  it,  a  sudden  almost  imper 
ceptible  change  of  expression  that  said  "  Death  "  as 
plainly  as  if  he  had  spoken  it.  They  could  do  noth 
ing,  he  said, —  nothing  but  wait  for  the  end  to  come. 

How  the  moments  lingered  !  Sometimes  Cecil  bent 
over  the  sufferer  with  every  muscle  quivering  to  her 
paroxysms ;  sometimes  he  could  endure  it  no  longer 
and  went  out  into  the  cool  night  air  or  into  the  li 
brary,  where  with  the  mere  mechanical  instinct  of  a 
student  he  picked  up  a  book,  reading  a  few  lines  in  it, 
then  throwing  it  aside.  Yet  wherever  he  was  he  felt 
her  sufferings  as  acutely  as  when  standing  by  her  side. 
His  whole  frame  was  in  keenest  sympathy  with  hers, 
his  whole  being  full  of  pain.  So  sharp  were  his  sen 
sations  that  they  imparted  an  abnormal  vigor  to  his 
mind.  Every  line  his  eyes  met  in  reading  stood  out 
on  the  page  with  wonderful  distinctness.  The  words 
seemed  pictorial,  and  his  mind  grasped  abstruse  prop 
ositions  or  involved  expressions  with  marvellous  facility. 

He  noted  it,  and  remembered  afterward  that  he 
thought  at  the  time  how  curious  it  was  that  his  tor 
tured  sympathies  should  give  him  such  startling  acute- 
ness  of  perception. 

The  slow  night  waned,  the  slow  dawn  crept  over 
the  eastern  hills.  Cecil  stood  with  haggard  eyes  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  watching  the  sleeper's  face.  As  the 
daylight  brightened,  blending  with  the  light  of  the  still 
burning  lamps,  he  saw  a  change  come  over  her  coun 
tenance  ;  the  set  face  relaxed,  the  look  lost  its  wild- 
ness.  A  great  hope  shone  in  his  hollow  eyes. 

"  She  is  getting  better,  she  is  coming  out  of  her 
sufferings,"  he  whispered  to  the  doctor. 


A   DARKENED  FIRESIDE.  35 

"  She  will  be  out  of  her  sufferings  very  soon,"  he 
replied  sadly ;  and  then  Cecil  knew  that  the  end  was 
at  hand.  Was  it  because  the  peace,  the  profound 
serenity  which  sometimes  is  the  prelude  of  death,  fill 
ing  her  being,  penetrated  his,  that  he  grew  so  strangely 
calm?  An  inexpressible  solemnity  came  to  him  as 
he  looked  at  her,  and  all  his  agitation  left  him. 

Her  face  grew  very  sweet  and  calm,  and  full  of 
peace.  Her  eyes  met  Cecil's,  and  there  was  in  them 
something  that  seemed  to  thank  him  for  all  his  good 
ness  and  patience,  —  something  that  was  both  bene 
diction  and  farewell.  Her  lips  moved,  but  she  was 
past  the  power  of  speech,  and  only  her  eyes  thanked 
him  in  a  tender,  grateful  glance. 

The  sun's  edge  flashed  above  the  horizon,  and  its 
first  rays  fell  through  the  uncurtained  window  full 
upon  her  face.  She  turned  toward  them,  smiling 
faintly,  and  her  face  grew  tenderly,  radiantly  beauti 
ful,  as  if  on  that  beam  of  sunshine  the  spirit  of  her 
dead  lover  had  come  to  greet  her  from  the  sea. 
Then  the  sparkle  died  out  of  her  eyes  and  the  smile 
faded  from  her  lips.  It  was  only  a  white,  dead  face 
that  lay  there  bathed  in  golden  light. 

A  moment  after,  Cecil  left  the  house  with  swift 
footsteps  and  plunged  into  the  adjacent  wood.  There 
under  a  spreading  oak  he  flung  himself  prone  upon 
the  earth,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  A  seeth 
ing  turmoil  of  thoughts  swept  his  mind.  The  past 
rose  before  him  like  a  panorama.  All  his  married 
life  rushed  back  upon  him,  and  every  memory  was 
regret  and  accusation. 

"  I  might  have  been  kinder  to  her,  I  might  have 
been  better,"  he  murmured,  while  the  hot  tears  gushed 


36       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

from  his  eyes.  "  I  might  have  been  so  much  better 
to  her,"  he  repeated  over  and  over,  —  he,  whose  whole 
thought  had  been  to  shut  up  his  sorrow  in  his  own  heart 
and  show  her  only  tenderness  and  consideration. 

By  and  by  he  grew  calmer  and  sat  up,  leaning 
against  the  tree  and  looking  out  into  vacancy  with 
dim  eyes  that  saw  nothing.  His  heart  was  desolate, 
emptied  of  everything.  What  was  he  to  do  ?  What 
was  he  to  set  before  himself?  He  had  not  loved 
her,  but  still  she  had  been  a  part  of  his  life ;  with 
what  was  he  to  fill  it  now? 

As  he  sat  there  depressed  and  troubled,  a  strange 
thing  happened. 

He  was  looking,  as  has  been  said,  blindly  into  va 
cancy.  It  may  have  been  an  optical  illusion,  it  may 
have  been  a  mere  vagary  born  of  an  over-wrought 
brain ;  but  a  picture  formed  before  him.  In  the  dis 
tance,  toward  the  west,  he  saw  something  that  looked 
like  a  great  arch  of  stone,  a  natural  bridge,  rugged 
with  crags  and  dark  with  pine.  Beneath  it  swept  a 
wide  blue  river,  and  on  it  wild  horsemen  were  cross 
ing  and  recrossing,  with  plumed  hair  and  rude  lances. 
Their  faces  were  Indian,  yet  of  a  type  different  from 
any  he  had  ever  seen.  The  bridge  was  in  the  heart 
of  a  mighty  mountain-range.  On  either  side  rose 
sharp  and  lofty  peaks,  their  sides  worn  by  the  action 
of  water  in  some  remote  age. 

These  details  he  noted  as  in  a  dream ;  then  the 
strangeness  of  it  all  burst  upon  him.  Even  as  it  did 
so,  the  vision  dissolved ;  the  bridge  wavered  and  passed 
away,  the  mountain-peaks  sank  in  shadow.  He  leaped 
to  his  feet  and  gazed  eagerly.  A  fine  mist  seemed 
passing  before  his  sight ;  then  he  saw  only  the  reach 


A   DARKENED  FIRESIDE.  37 

of  hill  and  woodland,  with  the  morning  light  resting 
upon  it. 

While  the  vision  faded,  he  felt  springing  up  within 
him  an  irrepressible  desire  to  follow  it.  A  mysterious 
fascination  seized  him,  a  wild  desire  to  seek  the  phan 
tom  bridge.  His  whole  being  was  swayecl  as  by  a  su 
pernatural  power  toward  the  west  whence  the  vision 
had  passed.  He  started  forward  eagerly,  then  checked 
himself  in  bewilderment.  What  could  it  mean? 

In  the  nineteenth  century,  one  similarly  affected 
would  think  it  meant  a  fevered,  a  disordered  brain ; 
but  in  the  seventeenth,  when  statesmen  like  Cromwell 
believed  in  dreams  and  omens,  and  roue's  like  Mon- 
mouth  carried  charms  in  their  pockets,  these  things 
were  differently  regarded. 

The  Puritan  ministry,  whose  minds  were  imbued 
with  the  gloomy  supernaturalism  of  the  Old  Testa 
ment  on  which  they  fed,  were  especially  men  to 
whom  anything  resembling  an  apparition  had  a  pro 
phetic  significance.  And  Cecil  Grey,  though  liberal 
beyond  most  New  England  clergymen,  was  liable  by 
the  keenness  of  his  susceptibilities  and  the  extreme 
sensitiveness  of  his  organization  to  be  influenced  by 
such  delusions.  —  if  delusions  they  be.  So  he  stood 
awed  and  trembling,  questioning  within  himself,  like 
some  seer  to  whom  a  dark  and  uncertain  revelation 
has  been  made. 

Suddenly  the  answer  came. 

"The  Lord  hath  revealed  his  will  unto  me  and 
shown  me  the  path  wherein  I  am  to  walk,"  he  mur 
mured  in  a  hushed  and  stricken  tone.  "  Ruth  was 
taken  from  me  that  I  might  be  free  to  go  where  he 
should  send  me.  The  vision  of  the  Indians  and  the 


38       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

bridge  which  faded  into  the  west,  and  the  strange 
desire  that  was  given  me  to  follow  it,  show  that  the 
Lord  has  another  work  for  me  to  do.  And  when  I 
find  the  land  of  the  bridge  and  of  the  wild  people  I 
saw  upon  it,  then  will  I  find  the  mission  that  God  has 
given  me  to  do.  "  Lord  God  of  Israel,  I  thank  Thee. 
Thou  hast  shown  me  the  way,  and  I  will  walk  in  it, 
though  all  its  stones  be  fire  and  its  end  be  death." 

He  stood  a  moment  with  bowed  head,  communing 
with  his  God.  Then  he  returned  to  his  lonely  home. 

The  friends  whose  kindly  sympathies  had  brought 
them  to  the  house  of  mourning  wondered  at  the  erect 
carriage,  the  rapt,  exalted  manner  of  the  man.  His 
face  was  pale,  almost  as  pale  as  that  within  the 
darkened  room  ;  but  his  eyes  shone,  and  his  lips  were 
closely,  resolutely  set. 

A  little  while,  and  that  determined  face  was  all  sor 
rowful  and  pitying  again,  as  he  bent  over  the  still,  cold 
body  of  his  dead. 


THE   COUNCIL   OF  ORDINATION.  39 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE   COUNCIL   OF   ORDINATION. 

Friends  were  assembled  together ;  the  Elder  and  Magistrate  also 
Graced  the  scene  with  their  presence,  and  stood  like  the  Law  and 

the  Gospel  .... 
After  the  Puritan  way  and  the  laudable  custom  of  Holland. 

The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish. 

A  FEW  days  after  the  funeral,  letters  missive  from 
^~^  the  little  society  went  out  to  all  the  neighbor 
ing  churches,  calling  a  council  to  ordain  the  Rever 
end  Cecil  Grey  a  missionary  to  the  Indians. 

It  was  a  novel  thing,  in  spite  of  the  noble  example 
that  Roger  Williams  had  set  not  many  years  before ; 
and  the  summons  met  with  a  general  response. 

All  the  churches,  far  and  near,  sent  delegates.  If 
one  could  only  have  taken  a  peep,  the  day  before  the 
council,  into  the  households  of  that  part  of  New  Eng 
land,  what  a  glimpse  he  would  have  gotten  of  Puritan 
domestic  life  !  What  a  brushing  up  there  was  of 
black  coats,  what  a  careful  starching  and  ironing  of 
bands;  and  above  all,  in  Cecil's  own  neighborhood, 
what  a  mighty  cookery  for  the  ordination  dinner  the 
next  day  !  For  verily  the  capacity  of  the  clerical 
stomach  is  marvellous,  and  is  in  fact  the  one  thing  in 
theology  that  does  not  change.  New  departures  alter 
doctrines,  creeds  are  modified,  but  the  appetite  of 
the  clergy  is  not  subject  to  such  mutations. 


40       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

The  morrow  came,  and  with  it  the  expected  guests. 
The  meeting-house  was  crowded.  There  were  many 
ministers  and  lay  delegates  in  the  council.  In  the 
chair  sat  a  venerable  preacher,  not  unknown  in  the 
records  of  those  days,  —  a  portly  man,  with  a  shrewd 
and  kindly  face.  Sterner  faces  were  there  also.  The 
council  wore  a  grave  aspect,  more  like  a  court  of 
judges  before  whom  a  criminal  is  cited  to  appear 
than  an  assembly  of  clergymen  about  to  ordain  a 
missionary. 

After  some  preliminaries,  Cecil  was  called  on  to 
give  a  statement  of  his  reasons  for  wishing  to  go  as 
an  evangelist  to  the  Indians.  He  rose  before  them. 
There  was  a  singular  contrast  between  his  slight  form 
and  expressive  features  and  the  stout  frames  and  grim 
countenances  of  the  others.  But  the  graceful  presence 
of  the  man  had  in  it  a  quiet  dignity  that  commanded 
the  respect  of  all. 

In  obedience  to  the  command,  he  told  how  he  had 
thought  of  the  unknown  tribes  beyond  the  Allegha- 
nies,  living  in  the  gloom  of  paganism  and  perishing 
in  darkness,  till  an  intangible  sympathy  inclined  him 
toward  them,  —  till,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  their  great 
desire  for  light  had  entered  into  and  possessed  him, 
drawing  him  toward  them  by  a  mysterious  and  irre 
sistible  attraction.  He  felt  called  of  God  to  go  and 
minister  to  their  spiritual  needs,  and  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  leave  everything  and  obey  the  call. 

"  Is  this  all?  "  he  was  asked. 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  described  his 
vision  in  the  wood  the  morning  of  his  wife's  death. 
It  made  a  deep  impression  on  his  hearers.  There 
was  scarcely  a  man  in  the  assembly  who  was  not 


THE   COUNCIL   OF  ORDINATION.  41 

tinged  with  the  superstition  of  the  age ;  and  all  lis 
tened,  not  lightly  or  sceptically,  but  in  awe,  as  if  it 
brought  them  to  the  threshold  of  the  supernatural. 

When  the  narration  was  ended,  the  chairman  re 
quested  him  to  retire,  pending  the  decision  of  the 
council ;  but  first  he  was  asked,  — 

"  Are  you  willing  to  abide  by  the  decision  of  this 
council,  whatever  it  may  be?  " 

He  raised  his  head  confidently,  and  his  reply  came 
frank  and  fearless. 

"  I  shall  respect  the  opinions  of  my  brethren, 
no  matter  how  they  may  decide ;  but  I  shall  abide 
by  the  will  of  God  and  my  own  convictions  of 
duty." 

The  grave  Puritan  bent  his  head,  half  in  acknowl 
edgment  of  the  reply,  half  in  involuntary  admiration 
of  its  brave  manhood ;  then  Cecil  left  the  room,  the 
silent,  watchful  crowd  that  filled  the  aisles  parting 
respectfully  to  let  him  pass. 

"  Now,  brethren,"  said  the  chairman,  "  the  matter 
is  before  you.  Let  us  hear  from  each  his  judgment 
upon  it." 

Solemn  and  weighty  were  the  opinions  delivered. 
One  brother  thought  that  Mr.  Grey  had  plenty  of 
work  to  do  at  home  without  going  off  on  a  wild-goose 
chase  after  the  heathen  folk  of  the  wilderness.  His 
church  needed  him ;  to  leave  it  thus  would  be  a  shame 
ful  neglect  of  duty. 

Another  thought  that  the  Indians  were  descendants 
of  the  ten  lost  tribes  of  Israel,  and  as  such  should  be 
left  in  the  hands  of  God.  To  attempt  to  evangelize 
them  was  to  fly  in  the  face  of  Providence. 

Another  thought  the  same ;  but  then,  how  about 


42       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

that  vision  of  Mr.  Grey  ?  He  could  n't  get  around 
that  vision. 

"  I  don't  know,  brethren,  I  don't  know  !  "  he  con 
cluded,  shaking  his  head. 

Still  another  declared  positively  for  Mr.  Grey.  The 
good  people  of  the  colonies  owed  it  to  the  savages  to 
do  something  for  their  religious  enlightenment.  It 
was  wrong  that  so  little  had  been  done.  They  had 
taken  their  land  from  them,  they  had  pushed  them 
back  into  the  wilds  at  the  point  of  the  sword ;  now  let 
them  try  to  save  their  souls.  This  man  had  been 
plainly  called  of  God  to  be  an  apostle  to  the  Indi 
ans  ;  the  least  that  they  could  do  was  to  bid  him 
Godspeed  and  let  him  go. 

So  it  went  on.  At  length  the  venerable  chairman, 
who  had  twice  turned  the  hour-glass  upon  the  table 
before  him,  rose  to  close  the  discussion.  His  speech 
was  a  singular  mixture  of  shrewdness,  benevolence, 
and  superstition. 

He  said  that,  as  Christians,  they  certainly  owed  a 
duty  to  the  Indians,  —  a  duty  that  had  not  been  per 
formed.  Mr.  Grey  wished  to  help  fulfil  that  neg 
lected  obligation,  and  would  go  at  his  own  expense. 
It  would  not  cost  the  church  a  shilling.  His  vision 
was  certainly  a  revelation  of  the  will  of  the  Lord,  and 
he  dared  not  stand  in  the  way. 

A  vote  was  taken,  and  the  majority  were  found  to 
be  in  favor  of  ordination.  The  chairman  pronounced 
himself  pleased,  and  Mr.  Grey  was  recalled  and  in 
formed  of  the  result. 

"  I  thank  you,"  he  said  simply,  with  a  glad  and 
grateful  smile. 

"  Now,  brethren,"  said  the  worthy  chairman  with 


THE   COUNCIL   OF  ORDINATION.  43 

much  unction,  "  the  hour  of  dinner  is  nigh  at  hand, 
and  the  good  people  of  this  place  have  prepared  en 
tertainment  for  us ;  so  we  will  e'en  put  off  the  cere 
mony  of  ordination  till  the  afternoon.  Let  us  look  to 
the  Lord  for  his  blessing,  and  be  dismissed." 

And  so  with  a  murmur  of  talk  and  comment  the 
council  broke  up,  its  members  going  to  the  places 
where  they  were  to  be  entertained.  Happy  was  the 
man  who  returned  to  his  home  accompanied  by  a 
minister,  while  those  not  so  fortunate  were  fain  to  be 
content  with  a  lay  delegate.  Indeed,  the  hospitality 
of  the  settlement  was  so  bounteous  that  the  supply 
exceeded  the  demand.  There  were  not  enough 
visitors  to  go  around ;  and  more  than  one  good 
housewife  who  had  baked,  boiled,  and  roasted  all  the 
day  before  was  moved  to  righteous  indignation  at 
the  sight  of  the  good  man  of  the  house  returning 
guestless  from  the  meeting. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  entertainers  and  entertained 
gathered  again  at  the  meeting-house.  Almost  the 
entire  country  side  was  there,  —  old  and  young  alike. 
The  house  was  packed,  for  never  before  had  that 
part  of  New  England  seen  a  man  ordained  to  carry 
the  gospel  to  the  Indians.  It  occurred,  too,  in  that 
dreary  interval  between  the  persecution  of  the  Quak 
ers  and  the  persecution  of  the  witches,  and  was 
therefore  doubly  welcome. 

When  Cecil  arrived,  the  throng  made  way  rever 
ently  for  him.  Was  he  not  going,  perchance  like  the 
martyrs  of  old,  to  the  fagot  and  the  stake?  To 
those  who  had  long  known  him  he  seemed  hardly 
like  the  same  man.  He  was  lifted  to  a  higher  plane, 
surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  sanctity  and  hero- 


44       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

ism,  and  made  sacred  by  the  high  mission  given  him 
of  God,  to  which  was  now  to  be  added  the  sanction 
of  holy  men. 

So  they  made  way  for  him,  as  the  Florentines  had 
made  way  for  "  il  Frate  "  and  as  the  people  of  God  had 
made  way  for  Francis  Xavier  when  he  left  them  to 
stir  the  heart  of  the  East  with  his  eloquence,  and, 
alas  !  to  die  on  the  bleak  sea-coast  of  China,  clasping 
the  crucifix  to  his  breast  and  praying  for  those  who 
had  cast  him  out. 

Cecil's  face,  though  pale,  was  calm  and  noble.  All 
his  nature  responded  to  the  moral  grandeur  of  the 
occasion.  It  would  be  difficult  to  put  into  words  the 
reverent  and  tender  exaltation  of  feeling  that  ani 
mated  him  that  day.  Perhaps  only  those  upon  whose 
own  heads  the  hands  of  ordination  have  been  laid 
can  enter  into  or  understand  it. 

The  charge  was  earnest,  but  it  was  not  needed,  for 
Cecil's  ardent  enthusiasm  went  far  beyond  all  that  the 
speaker  urged  upon  him.  As  he  listened,  pausing  as 
it  were  on  the  threshold  of  an  unknown  future,  he 
wondered  if  he  should  ever  hear  a  sermon  again,  — 
he,  so  soon  to  be  swallowed  by  darkness,  swept,  self- 
yielded,  into  the  abyss  of  savagery. 

Heartfelt  and  touching  was  the  prayer  of  ordina 
tion,  —  that  God  might  accept  and  bless  Cecil's  con 
secration,  that  the  divine  presence  might  always  abide 
with  him,  that  savage  hearts  might  be  touched  and  soft 
ened,  that  savage  lives  might  be  lighted  up  through 
his  instrumentality,  and  that  seed  might  be  sown  in 
the  wilderness  which  would  spring  up  and  cause  the 
waste  places  to  be  glad  and  the  desert  to  blossom  as 
the  rose. 


THE   COUNCIL    OF  ORDINATION.  45 

"And  so,"  said  the  old  minister,  his  voice  faltering 
and  his  hands  trembling  as  they  rested  on  Cecil's 
bowed  head,  "  so  we  give  him  into  Thine  own  hand 
and  send  him  forth  into  the  wilderness.  Thou  only 
knowest  what  is  before  him,  whether  it  be  a  harvest 
of  souls,  or  torture  and  death.  But  we  know  that, 
for  the  Christian,  persecutions  and  trials  are  but 
stepping-stones  leading  to  God ;  yea,  and  that  death 
itself  is  victory.  And  if  he  is  faithful,  we  know  that 
whatever  his  lot  may  be  it  will  be  glorious ;  that 
whatever  the  end  may  be,  it  will  be  but  a  door  open 
ing  into  the  presence  of  the  Most  High." 

Strong  and  triumphant  rang  the  old  man's  tones,  as 
he  closed  his  prayer  committing  Cecil  into  the  hands 
of  God.  To  him,  as  he  listened,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
last  tie  that  bound  him  to  New  England  was  sev 
ered,  and  he  stood  consecrated  and  anointed  for  his 
mission.  When  he  raised  his  face,  more  than  one  of 
the  onlookers  thought  of  those  words  of  the  Book 
where  it  speaks  of  Stephen,  —  "  And  they  saw  his  face 
as  it  had  been  the  face  of  an  angel." 

A  psalm  was  sung,  the  benediction  given,  and  the 
solemn  service  was  over.  It  was  long,  however,  be 
fore  the  people  left  the  house.  They  lingered  around 
Cecil,  bidding  him  farewell,  for  he  was  to  go  forth  at 
dawn  the  next  day  upon  his  mission.  They  pressed 
his  hand,  some  with  warm  words  of  sympathy,  some 
silently  and  with  wet  eyes.  Many  affectionate  words 
were  said,  for  they  had  never  known  before  how 
much  they  loved  their  pastor;  and  now  he  seemed 
no  longer  a  pastor,  but  a  martyr  and  a  saint.  More 
than  one  mother  brought  him  her  child  to  bless; 
others  —  strangers  from  a  distance  —  lifted  their  chil- 


46  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

dren  up,  so  that  they  could  see  him  above  the  press, 
while  they  whispered  to  them  that  they  must  always 
remember  that  they  had  seen  the  good  Mr.  Grey, 
who  was  going  far  off  into  the  west  to  tell  the  Indians 
about  God. 

Long  afterward,  when  nearly  all  that  generation 
had  passed  away  and  the  storm  of  the  Revolution  was 
beginning  to  gather  over  the  colonies,  there  were  a 
few  aged  men  still  living  who  sometimes  told  how, 
when  they  were  children,  they  had  seen  Cecil  Grey 
bidding  the  people  farewell  at  the  old  meeting-house ; 
and  through  all  the  lapse  of  years  they  remembered 
what  a  wonderful  brightness  was  on  his  face,  and  how 
sweet  and  kind  were  his  words  to  each  as  he  bade 
them  good-by  forever. 


INTO   TRACKLESS   WILDS.  47 


CHAPTER  V. 

INTO    TRACKLESS    WILDS. 

"I  will  depart,"  he  said,  "  the  hour  is  come, 
And  in  the  silence  of  yon  sky  I  read 
My  fated  message  flashing." 

EDWIN  ARNOLD. 

r"PHE  next  morning  Cecil  rose  early  after  a  sleep- 
-*•  less  night.  On  that  day  he  was  to  go  out  from 
all  that  was  sweet  and  precious  in  life  and  take  the 
path  into  the  wilderness.  At  first  his  heart  sank 
within  him  ;  then  his  strength  of  purpose  revived,  and 
he  was  resolute  again.  » 

He  must  go,  and  soon.  The  briefer  the  parting 
the  briefer  the  pang.  He  had  already  bidden  his 
friends  good-by ;  his  parents  were  long  since  dead ; 
it  only  remained  to  part  from  the  old  Indian  woman, 
his  nurse  in  childhood,  now  his  faithful  house 
keeper  and  the  only  inmate  of  his  home. 

He  went  to  the  kitchen,  —  for  usually  at  this  hour 
she  was  up  and  preparing  breakfast.  She  was  not 
there,  and  the  room  looked  cold  and  cheerless  in  the 
gray  dawn.  He  went  to  her  door  and  knocked; 
there  was  no  response.  He  called  her;  the  room 
was  as  still  as  death.  Alarmed,  he  opened  the  door; 
no  one  was  within ;  she  was  gone,  —  had  evidently 
been  gone  all  night,  for  the  bed  was  untouched. 

He  was  pained  and  bewildered  at  this  desertion, 
for  only  the  day  before  he  had  given  her  a  paper 


4 8  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

legally  drawn  up,  securing  to  her  the  little  property  he 
possessed  and  making  her  independent  for  the  rest 
of  her  life.  She  had  taken  it,  listened  in  silence  to 
the  kindly  expressions  that  accompanied  the  gift,  and 
turned  away  without  a  word.  Now  she  was  gone ; 
what  could  it  mean? 

Slowly  he  made  the  simple  preparations  that  were 
needed  for  the  journey  —  putting  a  little  food,  his 
Bible,  and  other  necessaries  into  a  kind  of  knapsack 
and  strapping  it  upon  his  back.  Then  taking  his 
staff,  he  went  out  from  his  home,  never  to  return. 

The  sun  was  rising,  the  air  was  fresh  and  dewy,  but 
his  heart  was  sad.  Yet  through  it  ran  a  strange  thrill 
of  joy,  a  strange  blending  of  pain  and  gladness. 

"  The  parting  is  bitter,  bitter  almost  unto  death,  but 
He  will  keep  me,"  murmured  the  white  lips,  as  he 
went  down  the  walk. 

The  sound  of  voices  fell  on  his  ears,  and  he  looked 
up.  At  the  gate,  awaiting  him,  was  a  group  of  his 
parishioners,  who  had  come  to  look  once  more  on 
the  face  of  their  pastor.  One  by  whose  bedside  he 
had  prayed  in  the  hour  of  sickness  \  another,  whom 
his  counsel  had  saved  when  direly  tempted ;  a  little 
lame  child,  who  loved  him  for  his  kindness ;  and  an 
aged,  dim-sighted  woman,  to  whom  he  had  often  read 
the  Scriptures. 

He  opened  the  gate  and  came  out  among  them. 

"  God  bless  you,  sir,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  we 
wanted  to  see  your  bonny  face  again  before  you 
left  us." 

The  little  lame  boy  said  nothing,  but  came  up  to 
Cecil,  took  his  hand,  and  pressed  it  to  his  cheek  in 
a  manner  more  eloquent  than  words. 


INTO    TRACKLESS   WILDS.  49 

"  Friends,"  said  Cecil,  in  a  faltering  voice,  "  I 
thank  you.  It  is  very  sweet  to  know  that  you  care 
for  me  thus." 

One  by  one  they  came  and  clasped  his  hand  in 
tearful  farewell.  For  each  he  had  a  loving  word.  It 
was  an  impressive  scene,  —  the  sorrow-stricken  group, 
the  pastor  with  his  pale  spiritual  face  full  of  calm  re 
solve,  and  around  them  the  solemn  hush  of  morning. 

When  all  had  been  spoken,  the  minister  reverently 
uncovered  his  head  ;  the  others  did  the  same.  "  It 
is  for  the  last  time,"  he  said  ;  "  let  us  pray." 

After  a  few  earnest  words  commending  them  to  the 
care  of  God,  he  drew  his  hand  gently  from  the  lame 
boy's  cheek  and  rested  it  on  his  head  in  silent  benedic 
tion.  Then  giving  them  one  last  look  of  unutterable 
love,  a  look  they  never  forgot,  — 

"  Good-by,"  he  said  softly,  "  God  bless  you  all." 

"Good-by,  God  bless  you,  sir,"  came  back  in 
answer;  and  they  saw  his  face  no  more. 

One  more  farewell  was  yet  to  be  said.  The  wind 
ing  path  led  close  by  the  country  graveyard.  He 
entered  it  and  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  new-made 
grave.  Upon  the  wooden  headboard  was  inscribed 
the  name  of  her  who  slept  beneath,  —  "  Ruth  Grey." 

He  kissed  the  cold  sod,  his  tears  falling  fast 
upon  it. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  whispered,  as  if  the  dull  ear  of 
death  could  hear.  "  Forgive  me  for  everything 
wherein  I  failed  you.  Forgive  me,  and  —  Farewell." 

Again  he  was  on  his  way.  At  the  entrance  to  the 
wood  he  saw  a  figure  sitting  on  a  rock  beside  the 
path.  As  he  drew  nearer  he  observed  it  was  clad  in 
Indian  garb,  and  evidently  awaited  his  coming.  Who 


$0       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS, 

was  it?  Might  it  not  be  some  chief,  who,  having 
heard  of  his  intended  mission,  had  come  forth  to 
meet  him? 

He  hastened  his  steps.  When  he  came  nearer,  he 
saw  that  it  was  only  an  Indian  woman ;  a  little  closer, 
and  to  his  inexpressible  astonishment  he  recognized 
his  old  nurse. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  exclaimed.  "What 
are  you  doing  here,  and  in  Indian  garb,  too  ?  " 

She  rose  to  her  feet  with  simple,  natural  dignity. 

"  It  means,"  she  said,  "  that  I  go  with  you.  Was 
I  not  your  nurse  in  childhood  ?  Did  I  not  carry  you 
in  my  arms  then,  and  has  not  your  roof  sheltered  me 
since  ?  Can  I  forsake  him  who  is  as  my  own  child  ? 
My  heart  has  twined  around  you  too  long  to  be 
torn  away.  Your  path  shall  be  my  path ;  we  go 
together." 

It  was  in  vain  that  Cecil  protested,  reasoned, 
argued. 

"  I  have  spoken,"  she  said.  "  I  will  not  turn  back 
from  my  words  while  life  is  left  me." 

He  would  have  pleaded  longer,  but  she  threw  a 
light  pack  upon  her  back  and  went  on  into  the  forest. 
She  had  made  her  decision,  and  he  knew  she  would 
adhere  to  it  with  the  inflexible  obstinacy  of  her  race. 

He  could  only  follow  her  regretfully ;  and  yet  he 
could  not  but  be  grateful  for  her  loyalty. 

At  the  edge  of  the  wood  he  paused  and  looked 
back.  Before  him  lay  the  farms  and  orchards  of  the 
Puritans.  Here  and  there  a  flock  of  sheep  was  be 
ing  driven  from  the  fold  into  the  pasture,  and  a  girl, 
bucket  in  hand,  was  taking  her  way  to  the  milking 
shed.  From  each  farmhouse  a  column  of  smoke  rose 


INTO    TRACKLESS   WILDS.  51 

into  the  clear  air.  Over  all  shone  the  glory  of  the 
morning  sun.  It  was  civilization  ;  it  was  New  Eng 
land  ;  it  was  home. 

For  a  moment,  the  scene  seemed  literally  to  lay 
hold  of  him  and  pull  him  back.  For  a  moment,  all 
the  domestic  feelings,  all  the  refinement  in  his  nature, 
rose  up  in  revolt  against  the  rude  contact  with  barbar 
ism  before  him.  It  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  go  on, 
as  if  he  must  go  back.  He  shook  like  a  leaf  with  the 
mighty  conflict. 

"  My  God  !  "  he  cried  out,  throwing  up  his  arms 
with  a  despairing  gesture,  "  must  I  give  up  everything, 
everything?  " 

He  felt  his  resolution  giving  way;  his  gray  eyes 
were  dark  and  dilated  with  excitement  and  pain  ;  his 
long  fingers  twitched  and  quivered  j  before  he  knew 
what  he  was  doing,  he  was  walking  back  toward  the 
settlement. 

That  brought  him  to  himself;  that  re-awakened  the 
latent  energy  and  decision  of  his  character. 

"  What !  shall  I  turn  back  from  the  very  threshold 
of  my  work?  God  forgive  me  —  never  !  " 

His  delicate  frame  grew  strong  and  hardy  under  the 
power  of  his  indomitable  spirit.  Again  his  dauntless 
enthusiasm  came  back ;  again  he  was  the  Apostle  to 
the  Indians. 

One  long  last  look,  and  he  disappeared  in  the 
shadows  of  the  wood,  passing  forever  from  the  ken 
of  the  white  man ;  for  only  vague  rumors  floated 
back  to  the  colonies  from  those  mysterious  wilds  into 
which  he  had  plunged.  The  strange  and  wondrous 
tale  of  his  after-life  New  England  never  knew. 


BOOK    II. 

THE   OPENING   OF  THE  DRAMA. 
CHAPTER   I. 

SHALL  THE  GREAT  COUNCIL  BE  HELD? 

The  comet  burns  the  wings  of  night, 
And  dazzles  elements  and  spheres  ; 

Then  dies  in  beauty  and  a  blaze  of  light 
Blown  far  through  other  years. 

JOAQUIN  MILLER. 

nPWO  hundred  years  ago  —  as  near  as  we  can 
-  estimate  the  time  from  the  dim  and  shadowy  le 
gends  that  have  come  down  to  us  —  the  confederacy 
of  the  Wauna  or  Columbia  was  one  of  the  most  powerful 
the  New  World  has  ever  seen.  It  was  apparently  not 
inferior  to  that  of  the  Six  Nations,  or  to  the  more 
transitory  leagues  with  which  Tecumseh  or  Pontiac 
stayed  for  a  moment  the  onward  march  of  the  white 
man.  It  was  a  union  of  the  Indian  tribes  of  Oregon 
and  Washington,  with  the  Willamettes  at  the  head, 
against  their  great  hereditary  enemies,  the  Nootkas, 
the  Shoshones,  and  the  Spokanes. 

Sonorous  and  picturesque  was  the  language  of  the 
old  Oregon  Indians  in  telling  the  first  white  traders 
the  story  of  the  great  alliance. 


54       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

"  Once,  long  before  my  father's  time  and  before 
his  father's  time,  all  the  tribes  were  as  one  tribe  and 
the  Willamettes  were  tyee  [chief].  The  Willamettes 
were  strong  and  none  could  stand  against  them.  The 
heart  of  the  Willamette  was  battle  and  his  hand  was 
blood.  When  he  lifted  his  arm  in  war,  his  enemy's 
lodge  became  ashes  and  his  council  silence  and  death. 

"  The  war-trails  of  the  Willamette  went  north  and 
south  and  east,  and  there  was  no  grass  on  them.  He 
called  the  Chinook  and  Sound  Indians,  who  were  weak, 
his  children,  and  the  Yakima,  Cayuse,  and  Wasco, 
who  loved  war,  his  brothers ;  but  he  was  elder  brother. 
And  the  Spokanes  and  the  Shoshones  might  fast  and 
cut  themselves  with  thorns  and  knives,  and  dance  the 
medicine  dance,  and  drink  the  blood  of  horses,  but 
nothing  could  make  their  hearts  as  strong  as  the  hearts 
of  the  Willamettes  ;  for  the  One  up  in  the  sky  had  told 
the  old  men  and  the  dreamers  that  the  Willamettes 
should  be  the  strongest  of  all  the  tribes  as  long  as  the 
Bridge  of  the  Gods  should  stand.  That  was  their 
tomanowos. " 

But  whenever  the  white  listener  asked  about  this 
superstition  of  the  bridge  and  the  legend  connected 
with  it,  the  Indian  would  at  once  become  uncommu 
nicative,  and  say,  "  You  can't  understand,"  or  more 
frequently,  "  I. don't  know."  For  the  main  difficulty 
in  collecting  these  ancient  tales  —  "old-man  talk,"  as 
the  Siwashes  call  them  —  was,  that  there  was  much 
superstition  interwoven  with  them ;  and  the  Indians 
were  so  reticent  about  their  religious  beliefs,  that  if 
one  was  not  exceedingly  cautious,  the  lively,  gesticu 
lating  talker  of  one  moment  was  liable  to  become  the 
personification  of  sullen  obstinacy  the  next. 


SHALL    THE   GREAT  COUNCIL  BE  HELD?     55 

But  if  the  listener  was  fortunate  enough  to  strike 
the  golden  mean,  being  neither  too  anxious  nor  too 
indifferent,  and  if  above  all  he  had  by  the  gift  of 
bounteous  muck-a-muck  [food]  touched  the  chord 
to  which  the  savage  heart  always  responds,  the  Indian 
might  go  on  and  tell  in  broken  English  or  crude 
Chinook  the  strange,  dark  legend  of  the  bridge,  which 
is  the  subject  of  our  tale. 

At  the  time  our  story  opens,  this  confederacy  was 
at  the  height  of  its  power.  It  was  a  rough-hewn,  bar 
barian  realm,  the  most  heterogeneous,  the  most  rudi 
mentary  of  alliances.  The  exact  manner  of  its  union, 
its  laws,  its  extent,  and  its  origin  are  all  involved  in  the 
darkness  which  everywhere  covers  the  history  of  Indian 
Oregon,  —  a  darkness  into  which  our  legend  casts 
but  a  ray  of  light  that  makes  the  shadows  seem 
the  denser.  It  gives  us,  however,  a  glimpse  of  the 
diverse  and  squalid  tribes  that  made  up  the  confed 
eracy.  This  included  the  "  Canoe  Indians  "  of  the 
Sound  and  of  the  Oregon  sea-coast,  whose  flat  heads, 
greasy  squat  bodies,  and  crooked  legs  were  in  marked 
contrast  with  their  skill  and  dexterity  in  managing 
their  canoes  and  fish-spears ;  the  hardy  Indians  of 
the  Willamette  Valley  and  the  Cascade  Range ;  and 
the  bold,  predatory  riders  of  eastern  Oregon  and 
Washington,  —  buffalo  hunters  and  horse  tamers,  pas 
sionately  fond,  long  before  the  advent  of  the  white 
man,  of  racing  and  gambling.  It  comprised  also 
the  Okanogans,  who  disposed  of  their  dead  by  tying 
them  upright  to  a  tree ;  the  Yakimas,  who  buried 
them  under  cairns  of  stone ;  the  Klickitats,  who 
swathed  them  like  mummies  and  laid  them  in  low, 
rude  huts  on  the  mimaluse,  or  "  death  islands "  of 


56  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

the  Columbia ;  the  Chinooks,  who  stretched  them  in 
canoes  with  paddles  and  fishing  implements  by  their 
side:;  and  the  Kalamaths,  who  burned  them  with  the 
maddest  saturnalia  of  dancing,  howling,  and  leaping 
through  the  flames  of  the  funeral  pyre.  Over  sixty 
or  seventy  petty  tribes  stretched  the  wild  empire, 
welded  together  by  the  pressure  of  common  foes 
and  held  in  the  grasp  of  the  hereditary  war-chief  of 
-the  Willamettes. 

The  chiefs  of  the  Willamettes  had  gathered  on 
Wappatto  Island,  from  time  immemorial  the  council- 
ground  of  the  tribes.  The  white  man  has  changed 
its  name  to  "  Sauvie's "  Island ;  but  its  wonderful 
beauty  is  unchangeable.  Lying  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Willamette  River  and  extending  for  many  miles  down 
the  Columbia,  rich  in  wide  meadows  and  crystal  lakes, 
its  interior  dotted  with  majestic  oaks  and  its  shores 
fringed  with  cottonwoods,  around  it  the  blue  and 
sweeping  rivers,  the  wooded  hills,  and  the  far  white 
snow  peaks,  —  it  is  the  most  picturesque  spot  in 
Oregon. 

The  chiefs  were  assembled  in  secret  council,  and 
only  those  of  pure  Willamette  blood  were  present, 
for  the  question  to  be  considered  was  not  one  to  be 
known  by  even  the  most  trusted  ally. 

All  the  confederated  tribes  beyond  the  Cascade 
Range  were  in  a  ferment  of  rebellion.  One  of  the 
petty  tribes  of  eastern  Oregon  had  recently  risen  up 
against  the  Willamette  supremacy ;  and  after  a  short 
but  bloody  struggle,  the  insurrection  had  been  put 
down  and  the  rebels  almost  exterminated  by  the  vic 
torious  Willamettes. 


SHALL  THE  GREAT  COUNCIL  BE  HELD?  57 

But  it  was  known  that  the  chief  of  the  malcontents 
had  passed  from  tribe  to  tribe  before  the  strug 
gle  commenced,  inciting  them  to  revolt,  and  it  was 
suspected  that  a  secret  league  had  been  formed ; 
though  when  matters  came  to  a  crisis,  the  confeder 
ates,  afraid  to  face  openly  the  fierce  warriors  of  the 
Willamette,  had  stood  sullenly  back,  giving  assistance 
to  neither  side.  It  was  evident,  however,  that  a  spirit 
of  angry  discontent  was  rife  among  them.  Threaten 
ing  language  had  been  used  by  the  restless  chiefs  be 
yond  the  mountains ;  braves  had  talked  around  the 
camp-fire  of  the  freedom  of  the  days  before  the  yoke 
of  the  confederacy  was  known ;  and  the  gray  old 
dreamers,  with  whom  the  mimaluse  tillicums  [dead 
people]  talked,  had  said  that  the  fall  of  the  Willamettes 
was  near  at  hand. 

The  sachems  of  the  Willamettes,  advised  of  every 
thing,  were  met  in  council  in  the  soft  Oregon  spring 
tide.  They  were  gathered  under  the  cottonwood 
trees,  not  far  from  the  bank  of  the  Columbia.  The 
air  was  fresh  with  the  scent  of  the  waters,  and  the 
young  leaves  were  just  putting  forth  on  the  "  trees  of 
council,"  whose  branches  swayed  gently  in  the  breeze. 
Beneath  them,  their  bronze  faces  more  swarthy  still 
as  the  dancing  sunbeams  fell  upon  them  through  the 
moving  boughs,  thirty  sachems  sat  in  close  semi-circle 
before  their  great  war-chief,  Multnomah. 

It  was  a  strange,  a  sombre  assembly.  The  chiefs 
were  for  the  most  part  tall,  well-built  men,  warriors  and 
hunters  from  their  youth  up.  There  was  something 
fierce  and  haughty  in  their  bearing,  something  mena 
cing,  violent,  and  lawless  in  their  saturnine  faces  and 
black,  glittering  eyes.  Most  of  them  wore  their  hair 


58       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

long ;  some  plaited,  others  flowing  loosely  over  their 
shoulders.  Their  ears  were  loaded  with  hiagua  shells  ; 
their  dress  was  composed  of  buckskin  leggings  and 
moccasins,  and  a  short  robe  of  dressed  skin  that  came 
from  the  shoulders  to  the  knees,  to  which  was  added 
a  kind  of  blanket  woven  of  the  wool  of  the  mountain 
sheep,  or  an  outer  robe  of  skins  or  furs,  stained  vari 
ous  colors  and  always  drawn  close  around  the  body 
when  sitting  or  standing.  Seated  on  rude  mats  of 
rushes,  wrapped  each  in  his  outer  blanket  and  doubly 
wrapped  in  Indian  stoicism,  the  warriors  were  ranged 
before  their  chief. 

His  garb  did  not  differ  from  that  of  the  others,  ex 
cept  that  his  blanket  was  of  the  richest  fur  known  to 
the  Indians,  so  doubled  that  the  fur  showed  on  either 
side.  His  bare  arms  were  clasped  each  with  a  rough 
band  of  gold ;  his  hair  was  cut  short,  in  sign  of 
mourning  for  his  favorite  wife,  and  his  neck  was 
adorned  with  a  collar  of  large  bear-claws,  showing  he 
had  accomplished  that  proudest  of  all  achievements 
for  the  Indian,  —  the  killing  of  a  grizzly. 

Until  the  last  chief  had  entered  the  grove  and 
taken  his  place  in  the  semi-circle,  Multnomah  sat  like 
a  statue  of  stone.  He  leaned  fonvard  reclining  on 
his  bow,  a  fine  unstrung  weapon  tipped  with  gold. 
He  was  about  sixty  years  old,  his  form  tall  and  stately, 
his  brow  high,  his  eyes  black,  overhung  with  shaggy 
gray  eyebrows  and  piercing  as  an  eagle's.  His'  dark, 
grandly  impassive  face,  with  its  imposing  regularity  of 
feature,  showed  a  penetration  that  read  everything,  a 
reserve  that  revealed  nothing,  a  dominating  power 
that  gave  strength  and  command  to  every  line.  The 
lip,  the  brow,  the  very  grip  of  the  hand  on  the  bow 


SHALL  THE  GREAT  COUNCIL  BE  HELD?       59 

told  of  a  despotic  temper  and  an  indomitable  will. 
The  glance  that  flashed  out  from  this  reserved  and 
resolute  face  —  sharp,  searching,  and  imperious  — 
may  complete  the  portrait  of  Multnomah,  the  silent, 
the  secret,  the  terrible. 

When  the  last  late-entering  chief  had  taken  his 
place,  Multnomah  rose  and  began  to  speak,  using 
the  royal  language ;  for  like  the  Cayuses  and  several 
other  tribes  of  the  Northwest,  the  Willamettes  had 
two  languages,  —  the  common,  for  every-day  use,  and 
the  royal,  spoken  only  by  the  chiefs  in  council. 

In  grave,  strong  words  he  laid  before  them  the 
troubles  that  threatened  to  break  up  the  confederacy 
and  his  plan  for  meeting  them.  It  was  to  send  out 
runners  calling  a  council  of  all  the  tribes,  including 
the  doubtful  allies,  and  to  try  before  them  and  ex 
ecute  the  rebellious  chief,  who  had  been  taken  alive 
and  was  now  reserved  for  the  torture.  Such  a  coun 
cil,  with  the  terrible  warning  of  the  rebel's  death 
enacted  before  it,  would  awe  the  malcontents  into 
submission  or  drive  them  into  open  revolt.  Long 
enough  had  the  allies  spoken  with  two  tongues ;  long 
enough  had  they  smoked  the  peace-pipe  with  both 
the  Willamettes  and  their  enemies.  They  must  come 
now  to  peace  that  should  be  peace,  or  to  open  war. 
The  chief  made  no  gestures,  his  voice  did  not  vary 
its  stern,  deliberate  accents  from  first  to  last ;  but 
there  was  an  indefinable  something  in  word  and 
manner  that  told  how  his  warlike  soul  thirsted  for 
battle,  how  the  iron  resolution,  the  ferocity  beneath 
his  stoicism,  burned  with  desire  of  vengeance. 

There  was  perfect  attention  while  he  spoke,  —  not 
so  much  as  a  glance  or  a  whisper  aside.  When  he 


60       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

had  ceased  and  resumed  his  seat,  silence  reigned  for 
a  little  while.  Then  Tla-wau-vvau,  chief  of  the  Klac- 
kamas,  a  sub-tribe  of  the  Willamette,  rose.  He  laid 
aside  his  outer  robe,  leaving  bare  his  arms  and  shoul 
ders,  which  were  deeply  scarred ;  for  Tla-wau-wau 
was  a  mighty  warrior,  and  as  such  commanded.  With 
measured  deliberation  he  spoke  in  the  royal  tongue. 

"  Tla-wau-wau  has  seen  many  winters,  and  his  hair 
is  very  gray.  Many  times  has  he  watched  the  grass 
spring  up  and  grow  brown  and  wither,  and  the  snows 
come  and  go,  and  those  things  have  brought  him  wis 
dom,  and  what  he  has  seen  of  life  and  death  has  given 
him  strong  thoughts.  It  is  not  well  to  leap  headlong 
into  a  muddy  stream,  lest  there  be  rocks  under  the 
black  water.  Shall  we  call  the  tribes  to  meet  us  here 
on  the  island  of  council?  When  they  are  all  gath 
ered  together  they  are  more  numerous  than  we.  Is 
it  wise  to  call  those  that  are  stronger  than  ourselves 
into  our  wigwam,  when  their  hearts  are  bitter  against 
us?  Who  knows  what  plots  they  might  lay,  or  how 
suddenly  they  might  fall  on  us  at  night  or  in  the  day 
when  we  were  unprepared?  Can  we  trust  them? 
Does  not  the  Klickitat's  name  mean  '  he  that  steals 
horses  '  ?  The  Yakima  would  smoke  the  peace-pipe 
with  the  knife  that  was  to  stab  you  hid  under  his 
blanket.  The  Wasco's  heart  is  a  lie,  and  his  tongue 
is  a  trap. 

"  No,  let  us  wait.  The  tribes  talk  great  swelling 
words  now  and  their  hearts  are  hot,  but  if  we  wait, 
the  fire  will  die  down  and  the  words  grow  small.  Then 
we  can  have  a  council  and  be  knit  together  again. 
Let  us  wait  till  another  winter  has  come  and  gone ; 
then  let  us  meet  in  council,  and  the  tribes  will  listen. 


SHALL   THE  GREAT  COUNCIL  BE  HELD?      6 1 

"Tla-wau-wau  says,  'wait,  and  all  will  be  well.'  " 

His  earnest,  emphatic  words  ended,  the  chief  took 
his  seat  and  resumed  his  former  look  of  stolid  indiffer 
ence.  A  moment  before  he  had  been  all  animation, 
every  glance  and  gesture  eloquent  with  meaning ;  now 
he  sat  seemingly  impassive  and  unconcerned. 

There  was  another  pause.  It  was  so  still  that  the 
rustling  of  the  boughs  overhead  was  startlingly  dis 
tinct.  Saving  the  restless  glitter  of  black  eyes,  it  was 
a  tableau  of  stoicism.  Then  another  spoke,  advising 
caution,  setting  forth  the  danger  of  plunging  into  a 
contest  with  the  allies.  Speaker  followed  speaker  in 
the  same  strain. 

As  they  uttered  the  words  counselling  delay,  the 
glance  of  the  war- chief  grew  ever  brighter,  and  his  grip 
upon  the  bow  on  which  he  leaned  grew  harder.  But 
the  cold  face  did  not  relax  a  muscle.  At  length  rose 
Mishlah  the  Cougar,  chief  of  the  Mollalies.  His  was 
one  of  the  most  singular  faces  there.  His  tangled 
hair  fell  around  a  sinister,  bestial  countenance,  all 
scarred  and  seamed  by  wounds  received  in  battle. 
His  head  was  almost  flat,  running  back  from  his 
eyebrows  so  obliquely  that  when  he  stood  erect  he 
seemed  to  have  no  forehead  at  all ;  while  the  back  and 
lower  part  of  his  head  showed  an  enormous  develop 
ment,  —  a  development  that  was  all  animal.  He  knew 
nothing  but  battle,  and  was  one  of  the  most  dreaded 
warriors  of  the  Willamettes. 

He  spoke,  —  not  in  the  royal  language,  as  did  the 
others,  but  in  the  common  dialect,  the  only  one  of 
which  he  was  master. 

"  My  heart  is  as  the  heart  of  Multnomah.  Mishlah 
is  hungry  for  war.  If  the  tribes  that  are  our  younger 


62       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

brothers  are  faithful,  they  will  come  to  the  council 
and  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace  with  us ;  if  they  are 
not,  let  us  know  it.  Mishlah  knows  not  what  it  is  to 
wait.  You  all  talk  words,  words,  words ;  and  the 
tribes  laugh  and  say,  'The  Willamettes  have  be 
come  women  and  sit  in  the  lodge  sewing  moccasins 
and  are  afraid  to  fight.'  Send  out  the  runners.  Call 
the  council.  Let  us  find  who  are  our  enemies ;  then 
let  us  strike  !  " 

The  hands  of  the  chief  closed  involuntarily  as  if 
they  clutched  a  weapon,  and  his  voice  rang  harsh  and 
grating.  The  eyes  of  Multnomah  flashed  fire,  and 
the  war- lust  kindled  for  a  moment  on  the  dark  faces 
of  the  listeners. 

Then  rose  the  grotesque  figure  of  an  Indian,  an 
cient,  withered,  with  matted  locks  and  haggard  face, 
who  had  just  joined  the  council,  gliding  in  noiselessly 
from  the  neighboring  wood.  His  cheek-bones  were 
unusually  high,  his  lower  lip  thick  and  protruding,  his 
eyes  deeply  sunken,  his  face  drawn,  austere,  and  dis 
mal  beyond  description.  The  mis-shapen,  degraded 
features  repelled  at  first  sight;  but  a  second  glance 
revealed  a  great  dim  sadness  in  the  eyes,  a  gloomy 
foreboding  on  brow  and  lip  that  were  weirdly  fasci 
nating,  so  sombre  were  they,  so  full  of  woe.  There 
was  a  wild  dignity  in  his  mien ;  and  he  wore  the  robe 
of  furs,  though  soiled  and  torn,  that  only  the  richest 
chiefs  were  able  to  wear.  Such  was  Tohomish,  or 
Pine  Voice,  chief  of  the  Santiam  tribe  of  the  Willa 
mettes,  the  most  eloquent  orator  and  potent  medicine 
or  tomanowos  man  in  the  confederacy. 

There  was  a  perceptible  movement  of  expectation, 
a  lighting  up  of  faces  as  he  arose,  and  a  shadow  of 


SHALL  THE  GREAT  COUNCIL  BE  HELD?       63 

anxiety  swept  over  Multnomah's  impassive  features. 
For  this  man's  eloquence  was  wonderful,  and  his  soft 
magnetic  tones  could  sway  the  passions  of  his  hearers 
to  his  will  with  a  power  that  seemed  more  than  human 
to  the  superstitious  Indians.  Would  he  declare  for 
the  council  or  against  it ;  for  peace  or  for  war  ? 

He  threw  back  the  tangled  locks  that  hung  over 
his  face,  and  spoke. 

"  Chiefs  and  warriors,  who  dwell  in  lodges  and  talk 
with  men,  Tohomish,  who  dwells  in  caves  and  talks 
with  the  dead,  says  greeting,  and  by  him  the  dead 
send  greeting  also." 

His  voice  was  wonderfully  musical,  thrilling,  and 
pathetic;  and  as  he  spoke  the  salutation  from  the 
dead,  a  shudder  went  through  the  wild  audience 
before  him,  —  through  all  but  Multnomah,  who 
did  not  shrink  nor  drop  his  searching  eyes  from 
the  speaker's  face.  What  cared  he  for  the  saluta 
tion  of  the  living  or  the  dead?  Would  this  man 
whose  influence  was  so  powerful  declare  for  action 
or  delay? 

"  It  has  been  long  since  Tohomish  has  stood  in  the 
light  of  the  sun  and  looked  on  the  faces  of  his  broth 
ers  or  heard  their  voices.  Other  faces  has  he  looked 
upon  and  other  voices  has  he  heard.  He  has  learned 
the  language  of  the  birds  and  the  trees,  and  has  talked 
with  the  People  of  Old  who  dwell  in  the  serpent  and 
the  cayote ;  and  they  have  taught  him  their  secrets. 
But  of  late  terrible  things  have  come  to  Tohomish." 

He  paused,  and  the  silence  was  breathless,  for  the 
Indians  looked  on  this  man  as  a  seer  to  whom  the 
future  was  as  luminous  as  the  past.  But  Multno 
mah's  brow  darkened  •  he  felt  that  Tohomish  also 


64       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

was  against  him,  and  the  soul  of  the  warrior  rose  up 
stern  and  resentful  against  the  prophet. 

"  A  few  suns  ago,  as  I  wandered  in  the  forest  by 
the  Santiam,  I  heard  the  death-wail  in  the  distance. 
I  said,  '  Some  one  is  dead,  and  that  is  the  cry  of  the 
mourners.  I  will  go  and  lift  up  my  voice  with  them.' 
But  as  I  sought  them  up  the  hill  and  through  the 
thickets  the  cry  grew  fainter  and  farther,  till  at  last  it 
died  out  amid  distant  rocks  and  crags.  And  then  I 
knew  that  I  had  heard  no  human  voice  lamenting  the 
dead,  but  that  it  was  the  Spirit  Indian-of-the-Wood 
wailing  for  the  living  whose  feet  go  down  to  the  dark 
ness  and  whose  faces  the  sun  shall  soon  see  no  more. 
Then  my  heart  grew  heavy  and  bitter,  for  I  knew  that 
woe  had  come  to  the  Willamettes. 

"  I  went  to  my  den  in  the  mountains,  and  sought 
to  know  of  those  that  dwell  in  the  night  the  meaning 
of  this.  I  built  the  medicine-fire,  I  fasted,  I  refused 
to  sleep.  Day  and  night  I  kept  the  fire  burning ; 
day  and  night  I  danced  the  tomanowos  dance  around 
the  flames,  or  leaped  through  them,  singing  the  song 
that  brings  the  Spee-ough,  till  at  last  the  life  went 
from  my  limbs  and  my  head  grew  sick  and  every 
thing  was  a  whirl  of  fire.  Then  I  knew  that  the 
power  was  on  me,  and  I  fell,  and  all  grew  black. 

"  I  dreamed  a  dream. 

"  I  stood  by  the  death-trail  that  leads  to  the  spirit- 
land.  The  souls  of  those  who  had  just  died  were 
passing ;  and  as  I  gazed,  the  wail  I  had  heard  in  the 
forest  came  back,  but  nearer  than  before.  And  as 
the  wail  sounded,  the  throng  on  the  death-trail  grew 
thicker  and  their  tread  swifter.  The  warrior  passed 
with  his  bow  in  his  hand  and  his  quiver  swinging  from 


SHALL  THE  GREAT  COUNCIL  BE  HELD?      65 

his  shoulder ;  the  squaw  followed  with  his  food  upon 
her  back ;  the  old  tottered  by.  It  was  a  whole 
people  on  the  way  to  the  spirit-land.  But  when  I 
tried  to  see  their  faces,  to  know  them,  if  they  were 
Willamette  or  Shoshone  or  our  brother  tribes,  I  could 
not.  But  the  wail  grew  ever  louder  and  the  dead 
grew  ever  thicker  as  they  passed.  Then  it  all  faded 
out,  and  I  slept.  When  I  awoke,  it  was  night;  the 
fire  had  burned  into  ashes  and  the  medicine  wolf  was 
howling  on  the  hills.  The  voices  that  are  in  the  air 
came  to  me  and  said,  '  Go  to  the  council  and  tell 
what  you  have  seen ; '  but  I  refused,  and  went  far 
into  the  wood  to  avoid  them.  But  the  voices  would 
not  let  me  rest,  and  my  spirit  burned  within  me,  and 
I  came.  Beware  of  the  great  council.  Send  out  no 
runners.  Call  not  the  tribes  together.  Voices  and 
omens  and  dreams  tell  Tohomish  of  something  ter 
rible  to  come.  The  trees  whisper  it ;  it  is  in  the  air, 
in  the  waters.  It  has  made  my  spirit  bitter  and 
heavy  until  my  drink  seems  blood  and  my  food  has 
the  taste  of  death.  Warriors,  Tohomish  has  shown 
his  heart.  His  words  are  ended." 

He  resumed  his  seat  and  drew  his  robe  about  him, 
muffling  the  lower  part  of  his  face.  The  matted  hair 
fell  once  more  over  his  drooping  brow  and  repul 
sive  countenance,  from  which  the  light  faded  the  mo 
ment  he  ceased  to  speak.  Again  the  silence  was  pro 
found.  The  Indians  sat  spell-bound,  charmed  by  the 
mournful  music  of  the  prophet's  voice  and  awed  by 
the  dread  vision  he  had  revealed.  All  the  supersti 
tion  within  them  was  aroused.  When  Tohomish  took 
his  seat,  every  Indian  was  ready  to  oppose  the  calling 
of  the  council  with  all  his  might.  Even  Mishlah,  as 
5 


.66  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

superstitious  as  blood-thirsty,  was  startled  and  per 
plexed.  The  war-chief  stood  alone. 

He  knew  it,  but  it  only  made  his  despotic  will  the 
stronger.  Against  the  opposition  of  the  council  and 
the  warning  of  Tohomish,  against  tomanowos  and 
Spee-ough,  ominous  as  they  were  even  to  him,  rose  up 
the  instinct  which  was  as  much  a  part  of  him  as  life 
itself,  —  the  instinct  to  battle  and  to  conquer.  He 
was  resolved  with  all  the  grand  strength  of  his  nature 
to  bend  the  council  to  his  will,  and  with  more  than 
Indian  subtility  saw  how  it  might  be  done. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  stood  for  a  moment  in 
silence,  sweeping  with  his  glance  the  circle  of  chiefs. 
As  he  did  so,  the  mere  personality  of  the  man  began 
to  produce  a  reaction.  For  forty  years  he  had  been 
the  great  war-chief  of  the  tribes  of  the  Wauna,  and 
had  never  known  defeat.  The  ancient  enemies  of 
his  race  dreaded  him ;  the  wandering  bands  of  the 
prairies  had  carried  his  name  far  and  wide ;  and  even 
beyond  the  Rockies,  Sioux  and  Pawnee  had  heard 
rumors  of  the  powerful  chief  by  the  Big  River  of  the 
West.  He  stood  before  them  a  huge,  stern  warrior, 
himself  a  living  assurance  of  victory  and  dominion. 

As  was  customary  with  Indian  orators  in  preparing 
the  way  for  a  special  appeal,  he  began  to  recount  the 
deeds  of  the  fathers,  the  valor  of  the  ancient  heroes 
of  the  race.  His  stoicism  fell  from  him  as  he  half 
spoke,  half  chanted  the  harangue.  The  passion  that 
was  burning  within  him  made  his  words  like  pictures, 
so  vivid  they  were,  and  thrilled  his  tones  with  electric 
power.  As  he  went  on,  the  sullen  faces  of  his  hearers 
grew  animated ;  the  superstitious  fears  that  Tohomish 
had  awakened  fell  from  them.  Again  they  were 


SHALL  THE  GREAT  COUNCIL  BE  HELD?       67 

warriors,  and  their  blood  kindled  and  their  pulses 
throbbed  to  the  words  of  their  invincible  leader.  He 
saw  it,  and  began  to  speak  of  the  battles  they  them 
selves  had  fought  and  the  victories  they  had  gained. 
More  than  one  dark  cheek  flushed  darker  and  more 
than  one  hand  moved  unconsciously  to  the  knife.  He 
alluded  to  the  recent  war  and  to  the  rebellious  tribe 
that  had  been  destroyed. 

"  That"  said  he,  "  was  the  people  Tohomish  saw 
passing  over  the  death-trail  in  his  dream.  What 
wonder  that  the  thought  of  death  should  fill  the  air, 
when  we  have  slain  a  whole  people  at  a  single  blow  ! 
Do  we  not  know  too  that  their  spirits  would  try  to 
frighten  our  dreamers  with  omens  and  bad  tomano- 
wos  ?  Was  it  not  bad  tomanowos  that  Tohomish  saw  ? 
It  could  not  have  come  from  the  Great  Spirit,  for 
he  spoke  to  our  fathers  and  said  that  we  should  be 
strongest  of  all  the  tribes  as  long  as  the  Bridge  of  the 
Gods  should  stand.  Have  the  stones  of  that  bridge 
begun  to  crumble,  that  our  hearts  should  grow 
weak?" 

He  then  described  the  natural  bridge  which,  as  tra 
dition  and  geology  alike  tell  us,  spanned  at  that  time 
the  Columbia  at  the  Cascades.  The  Great  Spirit,  he 
declared,  had  spoken ;  and  as  he  had  said,  so  it  would 
be.  Dreams  and  omens  were  mist  and  shadow,  but 
the  bridge  was  rock,  and  the  word  of  the  Great  Spirit 
stood  forever.  On  this  tradition  the  chief  dwelt  with 
tremendous  force,  setting  against  the  superstition  that 
Tohomish  had  roused  the  still  more  powerful  super 
stition  of  the  bridge,  —  a  superstition  so  interwoven 
with  every  thought  and  hope  of  the  Willamettes  that 
it  had  become  a  part  of  their  character  as  a  tribe. 


68       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

And  now  when  their  martial  enthusiasm  and  fa 
talistic  courage  were  all  aglow,  when  the  recital  of 
their  fathers'  deeds  had  stirred  their  blood  and  the 
portrayal  of  their  own  victories  filled  them  again  with 
the  fierce  joy  of  conflict,  when  the  mountain  of  stone 
that  arched  the  Columbia  had  risen  before  them  in 
assurance  of  dominion  as  eternal  as  itself,  —  now, 
when  in  every  eye  gleamed  desire  of  battle  and  every 
heart  was  aflame,  the  chief  made  (and  it  was  charac 
teristic  of  him)  in  one  terse  sentence  his  crowning 
appeal,  — 

"  Chiefs,  speak  your  heart.  Shall  the  runners  be 
sent  out  to  call  the  council?" 

There  was  a  moment  of  intense  silence.  Then  a 
low,  deep  murmur  of  consent  came  from  the  excited 
listeners;  a  half-smothered  war-cry  burst  from  the 
lips  of  Mishlah,  and  the  victory  was  won. 

One  only  sat  silent  and  apart,  his  robe  drawn 
close,  his  head  bent  down,  seemingly  oblivious  of 
all  around  him,  as  if  resigned  to  inevitable  doom. 

"  To-morrow  at  dawn,  while  the  light  is  yet  young, 
the  runners  will  go  out.  Let  the  chiefs  meet  here 
in  the  grove  to  hear  the  message  given  them  to  be 
carried  to  the  tribes.  The  talk  is  ended." 


THE   WAR-CHIEF  AND    THE  SEER.  69 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE    WAR- CHIEF   AND   THE    SEER. 

Cassandra's  wild  voice  prophesying  woe. 

PHILIP  BOURKE  MARSTON. 

war-chief  left  the  grove  as  soon  as  he  had 
dismissed  the  council.  Tohomish  went  with 
him.  For  some  distance  they  walked  together,  the 
one  erect  and  majestic,  the  other  gliding  like  a 
shadow  by  his  side. 

At  length  Multnomah  stopped  under  a  giant  cotton- 
wood  and  looked  sternly  at  Tohomish. 

"  You  frightened  the  council  to-day  with  bad  mim- 
aluse  [death]  talk.  Why  did  you  do  it  ?  Why  did 
you  bring  into  a  council  of  warriors  dreams  fit  only 
for  old  men  that  lie  sleeping  in  the  sun  by  the  door 
of  the  wigwam?  " 

"  I  said  what  my  eyes  saw  and  my  ears  heard,  and 
it  was  true." 

"  It  cannot  be  true,  for  the  Great  Spirit  has  said 
that  the  Willamettes  shall  rule  the  tribes  as  long  as 
the  bridge  shall  stand ;  and  how  can  it  fall  when  it 
is  a  mountain  of  stone?  " 

A  strange  expression  crossed  Tohomish's  sullen 
face. 

"  Multnomah,  beware  how  you  rest  on  the  prophecy 
of  the  bridge.  Lean  not  your  hand  on  it,  for  it  is 


70  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

as  if  you  put  it  forth  to  lean  it  on  a  coiled  rattle 
snake." 

"Your  sayings  are  dark,"  replied  the  chief  impa 
tiently.  "  Speak  plainly." 

Tohomish  shook  his  head,  and  the  gloomy  look 
habitual  to  him  came  back. 

"  I  cannot.  Dreams  and  omens  I  can  tell,  but  the 
secret  of  the  bridge  is  the  secret  of  the  Great  Spirit ; 
and  I  cannot  tell  it  lest  he  become  angry  and  take 
from  me  my  power  of  moving  men  with  burning 
words." 

"The  secret  of  the  Great  Spirit!  What  black 
thing  is  it  you  are  hiding  and  covering  up  with  words? 
Bring  it  forth  into  the  light,  that  I  may  see  it." 

"  No,  it  is  my  tomanowos.  Were  I  to  tell  it  the 
gift  of  eloquence  would  go  from  me,  the  fire  would 
die  from  my  heart  and  the  words  from  my  lips,  and 
my  life  would  wither  up  within  me." 

Multnomah  was  silent.  Massive  and  commanding 
as  was  his  character  he  was  still  an  Indian,  and  the 
words  of  the  seer  had  touched  the  latent  superstition 
in  his  nature.  They  referred  to  that  strongest  and 
most  powerful  of  all  the  strange  beliefs  of  the  Oregon 
savages,  —  the  spirit  possession  or  devil  worship  of 
the  tomanowos. 

As  soon  as  an  Oregon  Indian  was  old  enough  to 
aspire  to  a  place  among  the  braves,  he  was  sent 
into  the  hills  alone.  There  he  fasted,  prayed,  and 
danced,  chanted  the  medicine-chant,  and  cut  him 
self  with  knife  or  thorn  till  he  fell  exhausted  to  the 
ground.  Whatever  he  saw  then,  in  waking  delirium 
or  feverish  sleep,  was  the  charm  that  was  to  control 
his  future.  Be  it  bird  or  beast,  dream  or  mystic  rev- 


THE    WAR-CHIEF  AND    THE  SEER.          71 

elation,  it  was  his  totem  or  tomanowos,  and  gave  him 
strength,  cunning,  or  swiftness,  sometimes  knowl 
edge  of  the  future,  imparting  to  him  its  own  charac 
teristics.  But  what  it  was,  its  name  or  nature,  was 
the  one  secret  that  must  go  with  him  to  his  grave. 
Woe  unto  him  if  he  told  the  name  of  his  totem.  In 
that  moment  it  would  desert  him,  taking  from  him  all 
strength  and  power,  leaving  him  a  shattered  wreck, 
an  outcast  from  camp  and  war-party. 

"  Multnomah  says  well  that  it  is  a  black  secret,  but 
it  is  my  totem  and  may  not  be  told.  For  many  win 
ters  Tohomish  has  carried  it  in  his  breast,  till  its  pois 
oned  sap  has  filled  his  heart  with  bitterness,  till  for 
him  gladness  and  warmth  have  gone  out  of  the  light, 
laughter  has  grown  a  sob  of  pain,  and  sorrow  and 
death  have  become  what  the  feast,  the  battle,  and  the 
chase  are  to  other  men.  It  is  the  black  secret,  the 
secret  of  the  coming  trouble,  that  makes  Tohomish's 
voice  like  the  voice  of  a  pine  •  so  that  men  say  it  has 
in  it  sweetness  and  mystery  and  haunting  woe,  moving 
the  heart  as  no  other  can.  And  if  he  tells  the  secret, 
eloquence  and  life  go  with  it.  Shall  Tohomish  tell 
it?  Will  Multnomah  listen  while  Tohomish  shows 
what  is  to  befall  the  bridge  and  the  Willamettes  in 
the  time  that  is  to  come?  " 

The  war-chief  gazed  at  him  earnestly.  In  that 
troubled,  determined  look,  superstition  struggled  for 
a  moment  and  then  gave  way  to  the  invincible 
obstinacy  of  his  resolve. 

"  No.  Multnomah  knows  that  his  own  heart  is 
strong  and  will  not  fail  him,  come  what  may ;  and 
that  is  all  he  cares  to  know.  If  you  told  me,  the 
tomanowos  would  be  angry,  and  drain  your  spirit 


72  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

from  you  and  cast  you  aside  as  the  serpent  casts  its 
skin.  And  you  must  be  the  most  eloquent  of  all  at 
the  great  council ;  for  there  the  arm  of  Multnomah 
and  the  voice  of  Tohomish  must  bend  the  bad  chiefs 
before  them." 

His  accents  had  the  same  undertone  of  arbitrary 
will,  of  inflexible  determination,  that  had  been  in 
them  when  he  spoke  in  the  council.  Though  the 
shadows  fell  more  and  more  ominous  and  threatening 
across  his  path,  to  turn  back  did  not  occur  to  him. 
The  stubborn  tenacity  of  the  man  could  not  let  go  his 
settled  purpose. 

"Tohomish  will  be  at  the  council  and  speak  for 
his  chief  and  his  tribe?  "  asked  Multnomah,  in  a  tone 
that  was  half  inquiry,  half  command ;  for  the  seer 
whose  mysterious  power  as  an  orator  gave  him 
so  strong  an  influence  over  the  Indians  must  be 
there. 

Tohomish's  haggard  and  repulsive  face  had  settled 
back  into  the  look  of  mournful  apathy  habitual  to  him. 
He  had  not,  since  the  council,  attempted  to  change 
the  chiefs  decision  by  a  single  word,  but  seemed  to 
have  resigned  himself  with  true  Indian  fatalism  to  that 
which  was  to  come. 

"Tohomish  will  go  to  the  council,"  he  said  in 
those  soft  and  lingering  accents,  indescribably  sweet 
and  sad,  with  which  his  degraded  face  contrasted  so 
strongly.  "  Yes,  he  will  go  to  the  council,  and  his 
voice  shall  bend  and  turn  the  hearts  of  men  as  never 
before.  Strong  will  be  the  words  that  he  shall  say,  for 
with  him  it  will  be  sunset  and  his  voice  will  be  heard 
no  more." 


THE    WAR-CHIEF  AND    THE  SEER.          73 

"  Where  will  you  go  when  the  council  is  ended,  that 
we  shall  see  you  no  more? "  asked  Multnomah. 

"  On  the  death-trail  to  the  spirit- land,  —  nor  will 
I  go  alone,"  was  the  startling  reply;  and  the  seer 
glided  noiselessly  away  and  disappeared  among  the 
trees. 


74       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 


CHAPTER   III. 

WALLULAH. 

Ne'er  was  seen 

In  art  or  nature,  aught  so  passing  sweet 
As  was  the  form  that  in  its  beauteous  frame 
Inclosed  her,  and  is  scattered  now  in  dust. 

CAREY:  Dante. 

IV/f ULTNOMAH  passed  on  to  seek  the  lodge  of 
*•**"  his  daughter  Wallulah,  a  half  Asiatic,  and  the 
most  beautiful  woman  in  all  the  land  of  the  Wauna. 

Reader,  would  you  know  the  tale  of  the  fair  ori 
ental  of  whom  was  born  the  sweet  beauty  of  Wallulah  ? 

Eighteen  years  before  the  time  of  our  story,  an 
East  Indian  ship  was  wrecked  on  the  Columbia  bar, 
the  crew  and  cargo  falling  into  the  hands  of  the 
Indians.  Among  the  rescued  was  a  young  and  ex 
ceedingly  lovely  woman,  who  was  hospitably  enter 
tained  by  the  chief  of  the  tribe.  He  and  his  people 
were  deeply  impressed  by  the  grace  of  the  fair 
stranger,  whose  dainty  beauty  won  for  her  the  name 
of  "  Sea- Flower,"  because  the  sea,  that  is  ever  drift 
ing  weeds,  had  for  once  wafted  a  flower  to  the  shore. 

As  she  sat  on  the  mat  in  the  rude  bark  lodge,  the 
stern  chief  softened  his  voice,  trying  to  talk  with 
her ;  the  uncouth  women  gently  stroked  her  long  soft 
hair,  and  some  of  the  bolder  and  more  curious 
touched  her  white  hands  wonderingly,  while  the 
throng  of  dusky  faces  pressed  close  round  the  pale, 


WALLULAH.  75 

sweet  creature  whose  eyes  looked   at  them  with  a 
deep,  dumb  woe  they  could  not  understand. 

When  she  had  become  familiar  with  the  Willamette 
tongue,  she  told  them  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  a 
chief  far  away  across  the  great  water,  who  ruled  a 
country  as  broad  as  the  land  of  the  Wauna  and  far 
richer.  He  had  sent  her  as  a  bride  to  the  ruler  of 
another  land,  with  a  fabulous  dowry  of  jewels  and 
a  thousand  gifts  besides.  But  the  ship  that  bore  her 
and  her  splendid  treasures  had  been  turned  from  its 
course  by  a  terrible  storm.  Day  after  day  it  was 
driven  through  a  waste  of  blackness  and  foam,  —  the 
sails  rent,  the  masts  swept  away,  the  shattered  hulk 
hurled  onward  like  a  straw  by  the  fury  of  the  wind. 
When  the  tempest  had  spent  itself,  they  found  them 
selves  in  a  strange  sea  under  strange  stars.  Compass 
and  chart  were  gone ;  they  knew  not  where  they 
were,  and  caught  in  some  unknown  current,  they 
could  only  drift  blindly  on  and  on.  Never  sighting 
land,  seeing  naught  but  the  everlasting  sweep  of  wave 
and  sky,  it  began  to  be  whispered  in  terror  that  this 
ocean  had  no  further  shore,  that  they  might  sail  on 
forever,  seeing  nothing  but  the  boundless  waters.  At 
length,  when  the  superstitious  sailors  began  to  talk  of 
throwing  their  fair  charge  overboard  as  an  offering  to 
the  gods,  the  blue  peaks  of  the  Coast  Range  rose  out 
of  the  water,  and  the  ever  rain-freshened  green  of  the 
Oregon  forests  dawned  upon  them.  Then  came  the 
attempt  to  enter  the  Columbia,  and  the  wreck  on 
the  bar.1 

l  Shipwrecks  of  Asiatic  vessels  are  not  uncommon  on  the  Pacific 
Coast,  several  having  occurred  during  the  present  century,  —  notably 
that  of  a  Japanese  junk  in  1833,  from  which  three  passengers  were 


76       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS, 

Multnomah  made  the  lovely  princess  his  wife,  and 
Sea-Flower  showed  the  spirit  of  a  queen.  She 
tried  to  introduce  among  the  Indians  something  of 
the  refinement  of  her  oriental  home.  From  her  the 
degraded  medicine -men  and  dreamers  caught  a  gleam 
of  the  majestic  lore  of  Buddha  ;  to  the  chiefs-in-coun- 
cil  she  taught  something  of  the  grave,  inexorable 
justice  of  the  East,  that  seemed  like  a  higher  devel 
opment  of  their  own  grim  unwritten  code.  Her  in 
fluence  was  very  great,  for  she  was  naturally  eloquent 
and  of  noble  presence.  More  than  one  sachem  felt 
the  inspiration  of  better,  purer  thoughts  than  he  had 
ever  known  before  when  the  "  war-chiefs  woman  " 
spoke  in  council.  Strange  gatherings  were  those  : 
blood-stained  chiefs  and  savage  warriors  listening  all 
intent  to  the  sweetest  of  Indian  tongues  spoken 
in  modulations  that  were  music ;  the  wild  heart  of 
the  empire  stirred  by  the  perfumed  breath  of  a 
woman  ! 

She  had  died  three  years  before  the  events  we 
have  been  narrating,  and  had  left  to  her  daughter 
the  heritage  of  her  refinement  and  her  beauty. 

saved  at  the  hands  of  the  Indians  ;  while  the  cases  of  beeswax  that 
have  been  disinterred  on  the  sea-coast,  the  oriental  words  that  are  found 
ingrafted  in  the  native  languages,  and  the  Asiatic  type  of  countenance 
shown  by  many  of  the  natives,  prove  such  wrecks  to  have  been  frequent 
in  prehistoric  times.  One  of  the  most  romantic  stories  of  the  Oregon 
coast  is  that  which  the  Indians  tell  of  a  buried  treasure  at  Mount  Ne- 
halem,  left  there  generations  ago  by  shipwrecked  men  of  strange  garb 
and  curious  arms,  — treasure  which,  like  that  of  Captain  Kidd,has  been 
often  sought  but  never  found.  There  is  also  an  Indian  legend  of  a  ship 
wrecked  white  man  named  Soto,  and  his  comrades  (See  Mrs.  Victor's 
"  Oregon  and  Washington  " ),  who  lived  long  with  the  mid-Columbia 
Indians  and  then  left  them  to  seek  some  settlement  of  their  own  people 
in  the  south.  All  of  these  legends  point  to  the  not  infrequent  occur 
rence  of  such  a  wreck  as  our  story  describes. 


WALLULAH.  77 

Wallulah  was  the  only  child  of  the  war-chief  and 
his  Asiatic  wife,  the  sole  heir  of  her  father's 
sovereignty. 

Two  miles  from  the  council  grove,  in  the  interior 
of  the  island,  was  Wallulah's  lodge.  The  path  that 
Multnomah  took  led  through  a  pleasant  sylvan  lawn. 
The  grass  was  green,  and  the  air  full  of  the  scent  of  buds 
and  flowers.  Here  and  there  a  butterfly  floated  like 
a  sunbeam  through  the  woodland  shadows,  and  a 
humming-bird  darted  in  winged  beauty  from  bloom 
to  bloom.  The  lark's  song  came  vibrating  through 
the  air,  and  in  the  more  open  spaces  innumerable  birds 
flew  twittering  in  the  sun.  The  dewy  freshness,  the 
exquisite  softness  of  spring,  was  everywhere. 

In  the  golden  weather,  through  shadowed  wood  and 
sunny  opening,  the  war-chief  sought  his  daughter's 
lodge. 

Suddenly  a  familiar  sound  attracted  his  attention, 
and  he  turned  toward  it.  A  few  steps,  and  he  came 
to  the  margin  of  a  small  lake.  Several  snow-white 
swans  were  floating  on  it ;  and  near  the  edge  of  the 
water,  but  concealed  from  the  swans  by  the  tall  reeds 
that  grew  along  the  shore,  was  his  daughter,  watching 
them. 

She  was  attired  in  a  simple  dress  of  some  oriental 
fabric.  Her  form  was  small  and  delicately  moulded  ; 
her  long  black  hair  fell  in  rich  masses  about  her 
shoulders ;  and  her  profile,  turned  toward  him,  was 
sweetly  feminine.  The  Indian  type  showed  plainly, 
but  was  softened  with  her  mother's  grace.  Her  face 
was  sad,  with  large  appealing  eyes  and  mournful  lips, 
and  fall  of  haunting  loveliness  ;  a  face  whose  strange 
mournfulness  was  deepened  by  the  splendor  of  its 


7 8  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

beauty ;  a  face  the  like  of  which  is  rarely  seen,  but 
once  seen  can  never  be  forgotten. 

There  was  something  despondent  even  in  her  pose, 
as  she  sat  with  her  shoulders  drooping  slightly  for 
ward  and  her  dark  eyes  fixed  absently  on  the  swans, 
watching  them  through  the  bending  reeds.  Now  one 
uttered  its  note,  and  she  listened,  seeming  to  vibrate 
to  the  deep,  plaintive  cry ;  then  she  raised  to  her 
lips  a  flute  that  she  held  in  her  hands,  and  answered  it 
with  a  perfect  intonation,  —  an  intonation  that  breathed 
the  very  spirit  of  the  swan.  So  successful  was  the 
mimicry  that  the  swans  replied,  thinking  it  the  cry 
of  a  hidden  mate ;  and  again  she  softly,  rhythmically 
responded. 

"  Wallulah  !  "  said  the  chief. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  turned  toward  him. 
Her  dark  face  lighted  with  an  expressive  flash,  her 
black  eyes  shone,  her  features  glowed  with  joy  and 
surprise.  It  was  like  the  breaking  forth  of  an  inner 
illumination.  There  was  now  nothing  of  the  Indian 
in  her  face. 

"  My  father  !  "  she  exclaimed,  springing  to  him  and 
kissing  his  hand,  greeting  him  as  her  mother  had 
taught  her  to  do  from  childhood.  "  Welcome  !  Were 
you  searching  for  me?" 

"  Yes,  you  were  well  hidden,  but  Multnomah  is  a 
good  hunter  and  can  always  track  the  fawn  to  its 
covert,"  replied  the  chief,  with  the  faint  sem 
blance  of  a  smile.  All  that  there  was  of  gentle 
ness  in  his  nature  came  out  when  talking  with  his 
daughter. 

"  You  have  come  from  the  council  ?  Are  you  not 
weary  and  hungry  ?  Come  to  the  lodge,  and  let  Wai- 


WALLULAH.  79 

lulah  give  you  food,  and  spread  a  mat  for  you  to  rest 
upon." 

"  No,  I  am  hungry  only  to  see  Wallulah  and  hear 
her  talk.  Sit  down  on  the  log  again."  She  seated 
herself,  and  her  father  stood  beside  her  with  an  ab 
stracted  gaze,  his  hand  stroking  her  long,  soft  tresses. 
He  was  thinking  of  the  darker,  richer  tresses  of  another, 
whose  proud,  sad  face  and  mournful  eyes  with  their 
wistful  meaning,  so  like  Wallulah' s  own,  he,  a  barbarian 
prince,  could  never  understand. 

Although,  according  to  the  superstitious  custom  of 
the  Willamettes,  he  never  spoke  the  name  of  Sea- 
Flower  or  alluded  to  her  in  any  way,  he  loved  his 
lost  wife  with  a  deep  and  unchanging  affection.  She 
had  been  a  fair  frail  thing  whose  grace  and  refine 
ment  perplexed  and  fascinated  him,  moving  him  to 
unwonted  tenderness  and  yearning.  He  had  brought 
to  her  the  spoils  of  the  chase  and  of  battle.  The 
finest  mat  was  braided  for  her  lodge,  the  choicest 
skins  and  furs  spread  for  her  bed,  and  the  chieftain- 
ess's  string  of  hiagua  shells  and  grizzly  bear's  claws 
had  been  put  around  her  white  neck  by  Multnomah's 
own  hand.  In  spite  of  all  this,  she  drooped  and 
saddened  year  by  year ;  the  very  hands  that  sought 
to  cherish  her  seemed  but  to  bruise ;  and  she  sick 
ened  and  died,  the  delicate  woman,  in  the  arms  of 
the  iron  war-chief,  like  a  flower  in  the  grasp  of  a 
mailed  hand. 

Why  did  she  die  ?  Why  did  she  always  seem  so 
sad?  Why  did  she  so  often  steal  away  to  weep  over 
her  child?  Was  not  the  best  food  hers,  and  the 
warm  place  by  the  lodge  fire,  and  the  softest  bear 
skin  to  rest  on ;  and  was  she  not  the  wife  of  Multno- 


80       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

mah, —  the  big  chief's  woman?  Why  then  should 
she  droop  and  die  like  a  winged  bird  that  one  tries 
to  tame  by  tying  it  to  the  wigwam  stake  and  tossing 
it  food? 

Often  the  old  chief  brooded  over  these  questions, 
but  it  was  unknown  to  all,  even  to  Wallulah.  Only 
his  raven  tresses,  cut  close  year  by  year  in  sign  of 
perpetual  mourning,  told  that  he  had  not  forgotten, 
could  never  forget. 

The  swans  had  taken  flight,  and  their  long  lingering 
note  sounded  faint  in  the  distance. 

"  You  have  frightened  away  my  swans,"  said  Wallu 
lah,  looking  up  at  him  smilingly. 

A  shadow  crossed  his  brow. 

"Wallulah,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  had  now  the 
stern  ring  habitual  to  it,  "you  waste  your  life  with 
the  birds  and  trees  and  that  thing  of  sweet  sounds," 

—  pointing  to  the  flute.    "  Better  be  learning  to  think 
on  the  things  a  war-chiefs  daughter  should  care  for, 

—  the  feast  and  the  council,  the  war-parties  and  the 
welcome  to  the  braves  when  they  come  back  to  the 
camp  with  the  spoil." 

The  bright  look  died  out  of  her  face. 

"  You  say  those  words  so  often,"  she  replied  sor 
rowfully,  "  and  I  try  to  obey,  but  cannot.  War  is 
terrible  to  me." 

His  countenance  grew  harsher,  his  hand  ceased  to 
stroke  her  hair. 

"And  has  Multnomah,  chief  of  the  Willamettes 
and  war-chief  of  the  Wauna,  lived  to  hear  his  daugh 
ter  say  that  war  is  terrible  to  her?  Have  you  noth 
ing  of  your  father  in  you?  Remember  the  tales  of 
the  brave  women  of  Multnomah's  race,  —  the  women 


WALLULAH.  81 

whose  blood  is  in  your  veins.  Remember  that  they 
spoke  burning  words  in  the  council,  and  went  forth 
with  the  men  to  battle,  and  came  back  with  their  own 
garments  stained  with  blood.  You  shudder  !  Is  it 
at  the  thought  of  blood?" 

The  old  wistful  look  came  back,  the  old  sadness 
was  on  the  beautiful  face  again.  One  could  see  now 
why  it  was  there. 

"My  father,"  she  said  sorrowfully,  "Wallulah  has 
tried  to  love  those  things,  but  she  cannot.  She  can 
not  change  the  heart  the  Great  Spirit  has  given  her. 
She  cannot  bring  herself  to  be  a  woman  of  battle  any 
more  than  she  can  sound  a  war-cry  on  her  flute,"  and 
she  lifted  it  as  she  spoke. 

He  took  it  into  his  own  hands. 

"  It  is  this,"  he  said,  breaking  down  the  sensitive 
girl  in  the  same  despotic  way  in  which  he  bent  the 
wills  of  warriors ;  "  it  is  this  that  makes  you  weak. 
Is  it  a  charm  that  draws  the  life  from  your  heart  ?  If 
so,  it  can  be  broken." 

Another  moment  and  the  flute  would  have  been 
broken  in  his  ruthless  hands  and  its  fragments  flung 
into  the  lake ;  but  Wallulah,  startled,  caught  it  from 
him  with  a  plaintive  cry. 

"It  was  my  mother's.  If  you  break  it  you  will 
break  my  heart !  " 

The  chiefs  angry  features  quivered  at  the  mention 
of  her  mother,  and  he  instantly  released  the  flute. 
Wallulah  clasped  it  to  her  bosom  as  if  it  represented 
in  some  way  the  mother  she  had  lost,  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  Again  her  father's  hand  rested  on 
her  head,  and  she  knew  that  he  too  was  thinking  of 
her  mother.  Her  nature  rose  up  in  revolt  against  the 
6 


82       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

Indian  custom  which  forbade  talking  of  the  dead. 
Oh,  if  she  might  only  talk  with  her  father  about  her 
mother,  though  it  were  but  a  few  brief  words  !  Never 
since  her  mother's  death  had  her  name  been  men 
tioned  between  them.  She  lifted  her  eyes,  pathetic 
with  three  years'  hunger,  to  his.  As  their  glances 
met,  it  seemed  as  if  the  veil  that  had  been  between 
their  diverse  natures  was  for  a  moment  lifted,  and 
they  understood  each  other  better  than  they  ever  had 
before.  While  his  look  imposed  silence  and  sealed 
her  lips  as  with  a  spoken  command,  there  was  a  gleam 
of  tenderness  in  it  that  said,  "  I  understand,  I  too 
remember;  but  it  must  not  be  spoken." 

There  came  to  her  a  sense  of  getting  closer  to  her 
father's  heart,  even  while  his  eyes  held  her  back  and 
bade  her  be  silent. 

At  length  the  chief  spoke,  this  time  very  gently. 

"  Now  I  shall  talk  to  you  not  as  to  a  girl  but  as  to 
a  woman.  You  are  Multnomah's  only  child.  When 
he  dies  there  will  be  no  one  but  you  to  take  his  place. 
Are  your  shoulders  strong  enough  to  bear  the  weight 
of  power,  the  weight  that  crushes  men?  Can  you 
break  down  revolt  and  read  the  hearts  of  plotters,  — 
yes,  and  detect  conspiracy  when  it  is  but  a  whisper 
in  the  air?  Can  you  sway  council  and  battle  to  your 
will  as  the  warrior  bends  his  bow?  No;  it  takes 
men,  men  strong  of  heart,  to  rule  the  races  of  the 
Wauna.  Therefore  there  is  but  one  way  left  me 
whereby  the  line  of  Multnomah  may  still  be  head  of 
the  confederacy  when  he  is  gone.  I  must  wed  you 
to  a  great  warrior  who  can  take  my  place  when  I  am 
dead  and  shelter  you  with  his  strength.  Then  the 
name  and  the  power  of  Multnomah  will  still  live 


WALLULAH.  83 

among  the  tribes,  though  Multnomah  himself  be 
crumbled  into  dust." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  sat  looking  confused  and 
pained,  by  no  means  elated  at  the  future  he  had 
described. 

"  Have  you  never  thought  of  this,  —  that  some  time 
I  must  give  you  to  a  warrior?  " 

Her  head  drooped  lower  and  her  cheek  faintly 
flushed. 

"  Sometimes." 

"But  you  have  chosen  no  one?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  faltered. 

Her  father's  hand  still  rested  on  her  head, 
but  there  was  an  expression  on  his  face  that  showed 
he  would  not  hesitate  to  sacrifice  her  happiness  to 
his  ambition. 

"  You  have  chosen,  then  ?  Is  he  a  chief?  No,  I 
will  not  ask  that ;  the  daughter  of  Multnomah  could 
love  no  one  but  a  chief.  I  have  already  selected  a 
husband  for  you.  Tear  this  other  love  from  your 
heart  and  cast  it  aside." 

The  flush  died  out  of  her  cheek,  leaving  it  cold  and 
ashen ;  and  her  ringers  worked  nervously  with  the 
flute  in  her  lap. 

He  continued  coldly,  — 

"  The  fame  of  your  beauty  has  gone  out  through 
all  the  land.  The  chief  of  the  Chopponish l  has  offered 
many  horses  for  you,  and  the  chief  of  the  Spokanes, 
our  ancient  foes,  has  said  there  would  be  peace  be 
tween  us  if  I  gave  you  to  him.  But  I  have  promised 
you  to  another.  Your  marriage  to  him  will  knit  the 
bravest  tribe  of  the  confederacy  to  us ;  he  will  take 

1  Indian  name  of  the  Nez  Percys. 


84       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

my  place  when  I  am  dead,  and  our  people  will  still 
be  strong." 

She  made  no  reply.  What  could  she  do  against 
her  father's  granite  will  ?  All  the  grace  and  mobility 
were  gone  from  her  face,  and  it  was  drooping  and 
dull  almost  to  impassiveness.  She  was  only  an  In 
dian  girl  now,  waiting  to  learn  the  name  of  him  who 
was  to  be  her  master. 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  one  you  love  ?  Speak 
it  once,  then  never  speak  it  again." 

"  Snoqualmie,  chief  of  the  Cayuses,"  faltered  her 
tremulous  lips. 

A  quick  change  of  expression  came  into  the  gaze 
that  was  bent  on  her. 

"Now  lift  your  head  and  meet  your  fate  like 
the  daughter  of  a  chief.  Do  not  let  me  see 
your  face  change  while  I  tell  you  whom  I  have 
chosen." 

She  lifted  her  face  in  a  tumult  of  fear  and  dread, 
and  her  eyes  fastened  pathetically  on  the  chief. 

"His  name  is  —  "  she  clasped  her  hands  and  her 
whole  soul  went  out  to  her  father  in  the  mute  suppli 
cation  of  her  gaze  —  "  the  chief  Snoqualmie,  him  of 
whom  you  have  thought." 

Her  face  was  bewilderment  itself  for  an  instant  ; 
the  next,  the  sudden  light,  the  quick  flash  of  expres 
sion  which  transfigured  it  in  a  moment  of  joy  or  sur 
prise,  came  to  her,  and  she  raised  his  hand  and  kissed 
it.  Was  that  all?  Remember  she  had  in  her  the  deep, 
mute  Indian  nature  that  meets  joy  or  anguish  alike  in 
silence.  She  had  early  learned  to  repress  and  control 
her  emotions.  Perhaps  that  was  why  she  was  so  sad 
and  brooding  now. 


WALLULAH.  85 

"  Where  have  you  seen  Snoqualmie?  "  asked  Mult- 
nomah.  "  Not  in  your  father's  lodge,  surely,  for  when 
strange  chiefs  came  to  him  you  always  fled  like  a 
frightened  bird." 

"  Once  only  have  I  seen  him,"  she  replied,  flushing 
and  confused.  "  He  had  come  here  alone  to  tell  you 
that  some  of  the  tribes  were  plotting  against  you.  I 
saw  him  as  he  went  back  through  the  wood  to  the 
place  where  his  canoe  was  drawn  up  on  the  bank  of 
the  river.  He  was  tall ;  his  black  hair  fell  below  his 
shoulders ;  and  his  look  was  very  proud  and  strong. 
His  back  was  to  the  setting  sun,  and  it  shone  around 
him  robing  him  with  fire,  and  I  thought  he  looked 
like  the  Indian  sun-god." 

"  I  am  glad  it  is  pleasant  for  you  to  obey  me.  Now, 
listen  while  I  tell  you  what  you  must  do  as  the  wife 
of  Snoqualmie." 

Stilling  the  sweet  tumult  in  her  breast,  she  tried  hard 
to  listen  while  he  told  her  of  the  plans,  the  treaties, 
the  friendships,  and  the  enmities  she  must  urge  on 
her  husband,  when  he  became  war-chief  and  was  car 
rying  on  her  father's  work ;  and  in  part  she  under 
stood,  for  her  imagination  was  captivated  by  the 
splendid  though  barbarian  dream  of  empire  he  set 
before  her. 

At  length,  as  the  sun  was  setting,  one  came  to  tell 
Multnomah  that  a  runner  from  a  tribe  beyond  the 
mountains  had  come  to  see  him.  Then  her  father 
left  her ;  but  Wallulah  still  sat  on  the  mossy  log,  while 
all  the  woodland  was  golden  in  the  glory  of  sunset. 

Her  beloved  flute  was  pressed  close  to  her  cheek, 
and  her  face  was  bright  and  joyous ;  she  was  think 
ing  of  Snoqualmie,  the  handsome  stately  chief  whom 


86       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

she  had  seen  but  once,  but  whose  appearance,  as  she 
saw  him  then,  had  filled  her  girlish  heart. 

And  all  the  time  she  knew  not  that  this  Snoqual- 
mie,  to  whom  she  was  to  be  given,  was  one  of  the 
most  cruel  and  inhuman  of  men,  terrible  even  to 
the  grim  warriors  of  the  Wauna  for  his  deeds  of 
blood. 


SENDING   OUT  THE  RUNNERS.  87 


CHAPTER   IV. 

SENDING   OUT  THE   RUNNERS. 

Speed,  Malise,  speed ;  the  dun  deer's  hide 
On  fleeter  foot  was  never  tied  ; 
Herald  of  battle,  fate  and  fear 
Stretch  around  thy  fleet  career. 

SCOTT. 

A  T  early  morning,  the  sachems  had  gathered  in  the 
*"*•  council-grove,  Multnomah  on  the  seat  of  the 
war-chief,  and  twenty  runners  before  him.  They 
were  the  flower  of  the  Willamette  youth,  every  one 
of  royal  birth,  handsome  in  shape  and  limb,  fleet- 
footed  as  the  deer.  They  were  slender  and  sinewy 
in  build,  with  aquiline  features  and  sharp  searching 
eyes. 

Their  garb  was  light.  Leggins  and  moccasins  had 
been  laid  aside ;  even  the  hiagua  shells  were  stripped 
from  their  ears.  All  stood  nerved  and  eager  for  the 
race,  waiting  for  the  word  that  was  to  scatter  them 
throughout  the  Indian  empire,  living  thunderbolts 
bearing  the  summons  of  Multnomah. 

The  message  had  been  given  them,  and  they  waited 
only  to  pledge  themselves  to  its  faithful  delivery. 

"You  promise,"  said  the  chief,  while  his  flashing 
glance  read  every  messenger  to  the  heart,  "you 
promise  that  neither  cougar  nor  cataract  nor  ambus 
cade  shall  deter  you  from  the  delivery  of  this  sum 
mons  ;  that  you  will  not  turn  back,  though  the  spears 


88       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

of  the  enemy  are  thicker  in  your  path  than  ferns 
along  the  Santiam  ?  You  promise  that  though  you  fall 
in  death,  the  summons  shall  go  on?  " 

The  spokesman  of  the  runners,  the  runner  to  the 
Chopponish,  stepped  forward.  With  gestures  of  per 
fect  grace,  and  in  a  voice  that  rang  like  a  silver 
trumpet,  he  repeated  the  ancient  oath  of  the  Wil- 
lamettes,  —  the  oath  used  by  the  Shoshones  to-day. 

"  The  earth  hears  us,  the  sun  sees  us.  Shall  we 
fail  in  fidelity  to  our  chief?  " 

There  was  a  pause.  The  distant  cry  of  swans 
came  from  the  river ;  the  great  trees  of  council  rus 
tled  in  the  breeze.  Multnomah  rose  from  his  seat, 
gripping  the  bow  on  which  he  leaned.  Into  that 
one  moment  he  seemed  gathering  yet  repressing  all 
the  fierceness  of  his  passion,  all  the  grandeur  of  his 
will.  Far  in  the  shade  he  saw  Tohomish  raise  his 
hand  imploringly,  but  the  eyes  of  the  orator  sank 
once  more  under  the  glance  of  the  war-chief. 
«  Go  ! " 

An  electric  shock  passed  through  all  who  heard ; 
and  except  for  the  chiefs  standing  on  its  outskirts 
like  sombre  shadows,  the  grove  was  empty  in  a 
moment. 

Beyond  the  waters  that  girdled  the  island,  one 
runner  took  the  trail  to  Puyallup,  one  the  trail  to 
Umatilla,  one  the  path  to  Chelon,  and  one  the  path 
to  Shasta ;  another  departed  toward  the  volcano-rent 
desert  of  Klamath,  and  still  another  toward  the  sea- 
washed  shores  of  Puget  Sound 

The   irrevocable    summons   had    gone  forth ;    the 
council  was  inevitable,  —  the  crisis  must  come. 
Long  did  Multnomah  and  his  chiefs  sit  in  council 


SENDING   OUT  THE  RUNNERS.  89 

that  day.  Resolute  were  the  speeches  that  came 
from  all,  though  many  secretly  regretted  that  they 
had  allowed  Multnomah's  oratory  to  persuade  them 
into  declaring  for  the  council :  but  there  was  no 
retreat. 

Across  hills  and  canyons  sped  the  fleet  runners,  on 
to  the  huge  bark  lodges  of  Puget  Sound,  the  fisheries 
of  the  Columbia,  and  the  crowded  race-courses  of  the 
Yakima.  Into  camps  of  wandering  prairie  tribes, 
where  the  lodges  stood  like  a  city  to-day  and  were 
rolled  up  and  strapped  on  the  backs  of  horses  to 
morrow  j  into  councils  where  sinister  chiefs  were  talk 
ing  low  of  war  against  the  Willamettes;  into  wild 
midnight  dances  of  plotting  dreamers  and  medicine 
men,  —  they  came  with  the  brief  stern  summons,  and 
passed  on  to  speak  it  to  the  tribes  beyond. 


BOOK  III. 

THE   GATHERING  OF  THE   TRIBES. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE   BROKEN   PEACE-PIPE. 

My  full  defiance,  hate,  and  scorn. 

SCOTT. 

T  T  is  the  day  after  the  departure  of  the  runners  to 
*•  call  the  great  council,  —  eight  years  since  Cecil 
Grey  went  out  into  the  wilderness.  Smoke  is  curling 
slowly  upward  from  an  Indian  camp  on  the  prairie 
not  far  from  the  Blue  Mountains  of  eastern  Oregon. 
Fifteen  or  twenty  cone-shaped  lodges,  each  made  of 
mats  stretched  on  a  frame-work  of  poles,  compose 
the  village.  It  swarms  with  wolfish-looking  dogs  and 
dirty,  unclad  children.  Heaps  of  refuse,  heads  and 
feet  of  game,  lie  decaying  among  the  wigwams,  taint 
ing  the  air  with  their  disgusting  odor.  Here  and 
there  an  ancient  withered  specimen  of  humanity  sits 
in  the  sun,  absorbing  its  rays  with  a  dull  animal-like 
sense  of  enjoyment,  and  a  group  of  warriors  lie  idly 
talking.  Some  of  the  squaws  are  preparing  food, 
boiling  it  in  water-tight  willow  baskets  by  filling  them 
with  water  and  putting  in  hot  stones.1  Horses  are 

1  See  Bancroft's  "  Native  Races,"  vol.  i.,  p.  270. 


92       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

tethered  near  the  lodges,  and  others  are  running  loose 
on  the  prairie. 

There  are  not  many  of  them.  The  Indians  have 
only  scores  now  where  a  century  later  Lewis  and 
Clark  found  thousands;  and  there  are  old  men  in 
the  camp  who  can  recall  the  time  when  the  first 
horses  ever  seen  among  them  were  bought  or  stolen 
from  the  tribes  to  the  south. 

On  every  side  the  prairie  sweeps  away  in  long 
grassy  swells  and  hollows,  rolling  off  to  the  base  of 
the  Blue  Mountains. 

The  camp  has  the  sluggish  aspect  that  an  Indian 
camp  always  presents  at  noonday. 

Suddenly  a  keen-sighted  warrior  points  to  a  dim 
speck  far  over  the  prairie  toward  the  land  of  the 
Bannocks.  A  white  man  would  have  scarcely  noticed 
it;  or  if  he  had,  would  have  thought  it  only  some 
wandering  deer  or  antelope.  But  the  Indians,  glanc 
ing  at  the  moving  object,  have  already  recognized  it 
as  a  horseman  coming  straight  toward  the  camp. 

Some  messenger  it  is,  doubtless,  from  the  Bannocks. 
Once  the  whole  camp  would  have  rushed  to  arms  at 
the  approach  of  a  rider  from  that  direction,  for  the 
two  tribes  had  been  at  bitter  enmity ;  but  of  late  the 
peace-pipe  has  been  smoked  between  them,  and 
the  old  feud  is  at  an  end.  Still,  the  sight  arouses 
considerable  curiosity  and  much  speculation  as  to  the 
object  of  the  visitor. 

He  is  a  good  rider,  his  horse  is  fleet,  and  in  less 
time  than  would  have  been  thought  possible  reaches 
the  camp.  He  gallops  up,  stops  near  the  lodges  that 
are  farthest  out,  and  springs  lightly  to  the  ground. 
He  does  not  go  on  into  the  camp,  but  stands  beside 


THE  BROKEN  PEACE-PIPE.  93 

his    horse   till   advances    are    made    on    the    other 
side. 

The  dogs  bark  at  him ;  his  steed,  a  fiery  black, 
tosses  its  head  and  paws  the  ground ;  he  stands  beside 
it  immovably,  and  to  all  appearance  is  ready  so  to 
stand  till  sunset.  Some  of  the  warriors  recognize  him 
as  one  of  the  bravest  of  the  Bannocks.  He  looks  like 
a  daring,  resolute  man,  yet  wary  and  self-contained. 

After  a  while  one  of  the  Cayuse  warriors  (for  this 
was  a  camp  of  the  Cayuses)  advanced  toward  him, 
and  a  grave  salutation  was  exchanged.  Then  the 
Bannock  said  that  he  wanted  to  see  the  Cayuse  chief, 
Snoqualmie,  in  the  council-lodge,  for  the  chief  of  the 
Bannocks  had  sent  a  "  talk  "  to  the  Cayuses. 

The  warrior  left  him  to  speak  with  Snoqualmie.  In 
a  short  time  he  returned,  saying  that  the  chief  and 
the  warriors  had  gone  to  the  council-lodge  and  were 
ready  to  hear  the  "  talk  "  that  their  brother,  the  chief 
of  the  Bannocks,  had  sent  them.  The  messenger 
tied  his  horse  by  its  lariat,  or  long  hair-rope,  to  a 
bush,  and  followed  the  brave  to  the  lodge. 

It  was  a  large  wigwam  in  the  centre  of  the  village. 
A  crowd  of  old  men,  women,  and  children  had  al 
ready  gathered  around  the  door.  Within,  on  one 
side  of  the  room,  sat  in  three  rows  a  semi-circle  of 
braves,  facing  the  chief,  who  sat  on  the  opposite  side. 
Near  the  door  was  a  clear  space  where  the  messenger 
was  to  stand  while  speaking. 

He  entered,  and  the  doorway  behind  him  was  im 
mediately  blocked  up  by  the  motley  crowd  excluded 
from  the  interior.  Not  a  warrior  in  the  council  looked 
at  him ;  even  the  chief,  Snoqualmie,  did  not  turn  his 
head.  The  messenger  advanced  a  few  paces  into  the 


94       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

room,  stopped,  and  stood  as  impassive  as  the  rest. 
Then,  when  the  demands  of  Indian  stoicism  had  been 
satisfied,  Snoqualmie  turned  his  face,  a  handsome  but 
treacherous  and  cruel  face,  upon  the  messenger. 

"The  warrior  comes  to  speak  the  words  of  our 
brother,  the  chief  of  the  Bannocks ;  he  is  welcome. 
Shall  we  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace  before  we  hear  our 
brother's  words?" 

The  Bannock  gazed  steadily  at  Snoqualmie.  In 
that  fierce  and  proud  regard  was  something  the 
Cayuse  could  not  fathom. 

"Why  should  the  peace-pipe  be  smoked?"  he 
asked.  "Was  it  not  smoked  in  the  great  council  a 
moon  ago?  Did  not  Snoqualmie  say  then  that  the 
two  tribes  should  henceforth  be  as  one  tribe,  and  that 
the  Bannocks  should  be  the  brethren  of  the  Cayuses 
forever?  " 

"Those  were  the  words,"  replied  the  chief  with 
dignity.  "  Snoqualmie  has  not  forgotten  them." 

All  eyes  were  now  turned  on  the  messenger ;  they 
saw  that  something  unexpected  was  coming.  The 
Bannock  drew  his  form  up  to  its  full  height,  and  his 
resolute  features  expressed  the  bitterest  scorn. 

"  Nor  have  the  Bannocks  forgotten.  At  the  coun 
cil  you  talked  '  peace,  peace.'  Last  night  some  of  your 
young  men  surprised  a  little  camp  of  Bannocks,  —  a 
few  old  men  and  boys  who  were  watching  horses,  — 
and  slew  them  and  ran  off  the  horses.  Is  that  your 
peace  ?  The  Bannocks  will  have  no  such  peace.  This 
is  the  word  the  chief  of  the  Bannocks  sends  you  !  " 

Holding  up  the  peace-pipe  that  had  been  smoked 
at  the  great  council  and  afterward  given  to  the  medi 
cine-men  of  the  Bannocks  as  a  pledge  of  Cayuse  sin- 


THE  BROKEN  PEACE-PIPE.  95 

cerity,  he  broke  the  long  slender  stem  twice,  thrice, 
crushed  the  bowl  in  his  fingers,  and  dashed  the  pieces 
at  Snoqualmie's  feet.  It  was  a  defiance,  a  contempt 
uous  rejection  of  peace,  a  declaration  of  war  more 
disdainful  than  any  words  could  have  made  it. 

Then,  before  they  could  recover  from  their  astonish 
ment,  the  Bannock  turned  and  leaped  through  the 
crowd  at  the  door,  —  for  an  instant's  stay  was  death. 
Even  as  he  leaped,  Snoqualmie's  tomahawk  whizzed 
after  him,  and  a  dozen  warriors  were  on  their  feet, 
weapon  in  hand.  But  the  swift,  wild  drama  had  been 
played  like  lightning,  and  he  was  gone.  Only,  a 
brave  who  had  tried  to  intercept  his  passage  lay  on 
the  ground  outside  the  lodge,  stabbed  to  the  heart. 
They  rushed  to  the  door  in  time  to  see  him  throw 
himself  on  his  horse  and  dash  off,  looking  back  to 
give  a  yell  of  triumph  and  defiance. 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  describe  it,  the  horses 
tethered  near  the  lodges  were  mounted  and  twenty 
riders  were  in  pursuit.  But  the  Bannock  was  con 
siderably  in  advance  now,  and  the  fine  black  horse 
he  rode  held  its  own  nobly.  Out  over  the  prairie 
flew  the  pursuing  Cayuses,  yelling  like  demons,  the 
fugitive  turning  now  and  then  to  utter  a  shout  of 
derision. 

Back  at  the  lodges,  the  crowd  of  spectators  looked 
on  with  excited  comments. 

"  His  horse  is  tired,  ours  are  fresh  !  "  "  They  gain 
on  him  !  "  "  No,  he  is  getting  farther  from  them  !  " 
"See,  he  throws  away  his  blanket!"  "They  are 
closer,  closer  !  "  "  No,  no,  his  horse  goes  like  a  deer." 

Out  over  the  prairies,  fleeting  like  the  shadow  of  a 
hurrying  cloud,  passed  the  race,  the  black  horse 


96       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

leading,  the  Cayuse  riders  close  behind,  their  long 
hair  outstreaming,  their  moccasins  pressed  against 
their  horses'  sides,  their  whips  falling  without  mercy. 
Down  a  canyon  they  swept  in  pursuit  and  passed  from 
the  ken  of  the  watchers  at  the  camp,  the  black  horse 
still  in  the  van. 

But  it  could  not  cope  with  the  fresh  horses  of  the 
Cayuses,  and  they  gained  steadily.  At  last  the  pur 
suers  came  within  bowshot,  but  they  did  not  shoot ; 
the  fugitive  knew  too  well  the  reason  why.  Woe  unto 
him  if  he  fell  alive  into  their  hands  !  He  leaned  low 
along  his  horse's  neck,  chanting  a  weird  refrain  as  if 
charming  it  to  its  utmost  speed,  and  ever  and  anon 
looked  back  with  that  heart-shaking  shout  of  defiance. 
But  steadily  his  pursuers  gained  on  him ;  and  one, 
outstripping  the  rest,  rode  alongside  and  reached  out 
to  seize  his  rein.  Even  as  he  touched  it,  the  Ban 
nock's  war-club  swung  in  air  and  the  Cayuse  reeled 
dead  from  his  saddle.  A  howl  of  rage  burst  from  the 
others,  a  whoop  of  exultation  from  the  fugitive. 

But  at  length  his  horse's  breath  grew  short  and 
broken,  he  felt  its  body  tremble  as  it  ran,  and  his 
enemies  closed  in  around  him. 

Thrice  the  war-club  rose  and  fell,  thrice  was  a 
saddle  emptied;  but  all  in  vain.  Quickly  his  horse 
was  caught,  he  was  dragged  from  the  saddle  and 
bound  hand  and  foot. 

He  was  thrown  across  a  horse  and  brought  back  to 
the  village.  What  a  chorus  of  triumph  went  up  from 
the  camp,  when  it  was  seen  that  they  were  bringing 
him  back  !  It  was  an  ominous  sound,  with  something 
of  wolfish  ferocity  in  it.  But  the  Bannock  only  smiled 
grimly. 


THE  BROKEN  PEACE-PIPE.  97 

He  is  bound  to  a  post,  —  a  charred,  bloodstained 
post  to  which  others  of  his  race  have  been  bound 
before  him.  The  women  and  children  taunt  him, 
jeer  at  him,  strike  him  even.  The  warriors  do  not. 
They  will  presently  do  more  than  that.  Some  busy 
themselves  building  a  fire  near  by;  others  bring 
pieces  of  flint,  spear  points,  jagged  fragments  of  rock, 
and  heat  them  in  it.  The  prisoner,  dusty,  torn, 
parched  with  thirst,  and  bleeding  from  many  wounds, 
looks  on  with  perfect  indifference.  Snoqualmie  comes 
and  gazes  at  him ;  the  prisoner  does  not  notice  him, 
is  seemingly  unconscious  of  his  presence. 

By  and  by  a  band  of  hunters  ride  up  from  a  long 
excursion.  They  have  heard  nothing  of  the  trouble. 
With  them  is  a  young  Bannock  who  is  visiting  the 
tribe.  He  rides  up  with  his  Cayuse  comrades,  laugh 
ing,  gesticulating  in  a  lively  way.  The  jest  dies  on 
his  lips  when  he  recognizes  the  Bannock  who  is  tied 
to  the  stake.  Before  he  can  even  think  of  flight,  he 
is  dragged  from  his  horse  and  bound,  —  his  whilom 
comrades,  as  soon  as  they  understand  the  situation, 
becoming  his  bitterest  assailants. 

For  it  is  war  again,  war  to  the  death  between  the 
tribes,  until,  two  centuries  later,  both  shall  alike  be 
crushed  by  the  white  man. 

At  length  the  preparations  are  complete,  and  the 
women  and  children,  who  have  been  swarming  around 
and  taunting  the  captives,  are  brushed  aside  like  so 
many  flies  by  the  stern  warriors.  First,  the  young 
Bannock  who  has  just  come  in  is  put  where  he  must 
have  a  full  view  of  the  other.  Neither  speaks,  but 
a  glance  passes  between  them  that  is  like  a  mutual 
charge  to  die  bravely.  Snoqualmie  comes  and  stands 
7 


98       THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

*close  by  the   prisoner  and  gives  directions  for  the 
torture  to  begin. 

The  Bannock  is  stripped.  The  stone  blades  that 
ihave  been  in  the  fire  are  brought,  all  red  and  glowing 
with  heat,  and  pressed  against  his  bare  flesh.  It 
burns  and  hisses  under  the  fiery  torture,  but  the 
warrior  only  sneers. 

"  It  does  n't  hurt ;  you  can't  hurt  me.  You  are 
fools.  You  don't  know  how  to  torture."  1 

No  refinement  of  cruelty  could  wring  a  complaint 
from  him.  It  was  in  vain  that  they  burned  him,  cut 
the  flesh  from  his  fingers,  branded  his  cheek  with  the 
heated  bowl  of  the  pipe  he  had  broken. 

"Try  it  again,"  he  said  mockingly,  while  his  flesh 
smoked.  "  I  feel  no  pain.  We  torture  your  people 
a  great  deal  better,  for  we  make  them  cry  out  like 
little  children." 

More  and  more  murderous  and  terrible  grew  the 
wrath  of  his  tormentors,  as  this  stream  of  vituperation 
fell  on  their  ears.  Again  and  again  weapons  were 
lifted  to  slay  him,  but  Snoqualmie  put  them  back. 

"  He  can  suffer  more  yet,"  he  said ;  and  the  words 
were  like  a  glimpse  into  the  cold,  merciless  heart  of 
the  man.  Other  and  fiercer  tortures  were  devised  by 
the  chief,  who  stood  over  him,  pointing  out  where  and 
how  the  keenest  pain  could  be  given,  the  bitterest 
pang  inflicted  on  that  burned  and  broken  body. 
At  last  it  seemed  no  longer  a  man,  but  a  bleeding, 
scorched,  mutilated  mass  of  flesh  that  hung  to  the 
stake ;  only  the  lips  still  breathed  defiance  and  the 
eyes  gleamed  deathless  hate.  Looking  upon  one  and 

1  See  Ross  Cox's  "  Adventures  on  the  Columbia  River  "  for  a  de 
scription  of  torture  among  the  Columbia  tribes. 


THE  BROKEN  PEACE-PIPE.  99 

another,  he  boasted  of  how  he  had  slain  their  friends 
and  relatives.  Many  of  his  boasts  were  undoubtedly 
false,  but  they  were  very  bitter. 

"  It  was  by  my  arrow  that  you  lost  your  eye,"  he 
said  to  one  ;  "  I  scalped  your  father,"  to  another ; 
and  every  taunt  provoked  counter- taunts  accompanied 
with  blows. 

At  length  he  looked  at  Snoqualmie,  —  a  look  so 
ghastly,  so  disfigured,  that  it  was  like  something  seen 
in  a  horrible  dream. 

"  I  took  your  sister  prisoner  last  winter ;  you  never 
knew,  —  you  thought  she  had  wandered  from  home 
and  was  lost  in  a  storm.  We  put  out  her  eyes,  we 
tore  out  her  tongue,  and  then  we  told  her  to  go  out 
in  the  snow  and  find  food.  Ah-h-h  !  you  should  have 
seen  her  tears  as  she  went  out  into  the  storm,  and  —  " 

The  sentence  was  never  finished.  While  the  last 
word  lingered  on  his  lips,  his  body  sunk  into  a  lifeless 
heap  under  a  terrific  blow,  and  Snoqualmie  put  back 
his  blood-stained  tomahawk  into  his  belt. 

"  Shall  we  kill  the  other?  "  demanded  the  warriors, 
gathering  around  the  surviving  Bannock,  who  had 
been  a  stoical  spectator  of  his  companion's  sufferings. 
A  ferocious  clamor  from  the  women  and  children 
hailed  the  suggestion  of  new  torture ;  they  thronged 
around  the  captive,  the  children  struck  him,  the  women 
abused  him,  spat  upon  him  even,  but  not  a  muscle 
of  his  face  quivered ;  he  merely  looked  at  them  with 
stolid  indifference. 

"  Kill  him,  kill  him  !  "  «  Stretch  him  on  red  hot 
stones  !  "  "We  will  make  him  cry  !  " 

Snoqualmie  hesitated.  He  wished  to  save  this  man 
for  another  purpose,  and  yet  the  Indian  blood- thirst 


100  THE  BRIDGE   OF   THE   GODS. 

was  on  him ;  chief  and  warrior  alike  were  drunken 
with  fury,  mad  with  the  lust  of  cruelty. 

As  he  hesitated,  a  white  man  clad  in  the  garb  of 
an  Indian  hunter  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd. 
Silence  fell  upon  the  throng ;  the  clamor  of  the 
women,  the  fierce  questioning  of  the  warriors  ceased. 
The  personality  of  this  man  was  so  full  of  tenderness 
and  sympathy,  so  strong  and  commanding,  that  it  im 
pressed  the  most  savage  nature.  Amid  the  silence,  he 
came  and  looked  first  at  the  dead  body  that  yet  hung 
motionless  from  the  stake,  then  sorrowfully,  reproach 
fully,  at  the  circle  of  faces  around.  An  expression 
half  of  sullen  shame,  half  of  defiance,  crossed  more 
than  one  countenance  as  his  glance  fell  upon  it. 

"  Friends,"  said  he,  sadly,  pointing  at  the  dead, 
"  is  this  your  peace  with  the  Bannocks,  —  the  peace 
you  prayed  the  Great  Spirit  to  bless,  the  peace  that 
was  to  last  forever?  " 

"  The  Bannocks  sent  back  the  peace-pipe  by  this 
man,  and  he  broke  it  and  cast  the  pieces  in  our 
teeth,"  answered  one,  stubbornly. 

"  And  you  slew  him  for  it  ?  Why  not  have  sent 
runners  to  his  tribe  asking  why  it  was  returned,  and 
demanding  to  know  what  wrong  you  had  done,  that 
you  might  right  it  ?  Now  there  will  be  war.  When 
you  lie  down  to  sleep  at  night,  the  surprise  may  be 
on  you  and  massacre  come  while  your  eyes  are  heavy 
with  slumber;  when  you  are  gone  on  the  buffalo 
trail  the  tomahawk  may  fall  on  the  women  and  chil 
dren  at  home.  Death  will  lurk  for  you  in  every  thicket 
and  creep  round  every  encampment.  The  Great 
Spirit  is  angry  because  you  have  stained  your  hands 
in  blood  without  cause." 


THE  BROKEN  PEACE-PIPE.  IOI 

There  was  no  reply.  This  white  man,  coming 
from  far  eastern  lands  lying  they  knew  not  where, 
who  told  them  God  had  sent  him  to  warn  them  to  be 
better,  had  a  singular  influence  over  them.  There 
was  none  of  his  hearers  who  did  not  dimly  feel  that 
he  had  done  wrong  in  burning  and  scarring  the  poor 
mass  of  humanity  before  him,  and  that  the  Great 
Spirit  was  angry  with  him  for  it. 

Back  in  the  crowd,  some  of  the  children,  young 
demons  hungering  for  blood,  began  to  clamor  again 
for  the  death  of  the  surviving  Bannock.  Cecil  Grey 
looked  at  him  pityingly. 

"  At  least  you  can  let  him  go." 

There  was  no  answer.  Better  impulses,  better  de 
sires,  were  struggling  in  their  degraded  minds ;  but 
cruelty  was  deeply  rooted  within  them,  the  vague 
shame  and  misgiving  his  words  had  roused  was  not 
so  strong  as  the  dark  animalism  of  their  natures. 

Cecil  turned  to  Snoqualmie. 

"  I  saved  your  life  once,  will  you  not  give  me  his?  " 

The  chief  regarded  him  coldly. 

"  Take  it,"  he  said  after  a  pause.  Cecil  stooped 
over  and  untied  the  thongs  that  bound  the  captive, 
who  rose  to  his  feet  amid  a  low  angry  murmur  from 
those  around.  Snoqualmie  silenced  it  with  an  im 
perious  gesture.  Then  he  turned  to  the  young 
Bannock. 

"  Dog,  one  of  a  race  of  dogs  !  go  back  to  your 
people  and  tell  them  what  you  have  seen  to-day.  Tell 
them  how  we  burned  and  tortured  their  messenger, 
and  that  we  let  you  go  only  to  tell  the  tale.  Tell 
them,  too,  that  Snoqualmie  knows  his  sister  died  by 
their  hand  last  winter,  and  that  for  every  hair  upon 


102  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

her  head  he  will  burn  a  Bannock  warrior  at  the  stake. 
Go,  and  be  quick,  lest  my  war-party  overtake  you  on 
the  trail." 

The  Bannock  left  without  a  word,  taking  the  trail 
across  the  prairie  toward  the  land  of  his  tribe. 

"  The  gift  was  given,  but  there  was  that  given  with 
it  that  made  it  bitter.  And  now  may  I  bury  this 
dead  body?" 

"  It  is  only  a  Bannock ;  who  cares  what  is  done 
with  it?"  replied  Snoqualmie.  "  But  remember,  my 
debt  is  paid.  Ask  of  me  no  more  gifts,"  and  the 
chief  turned  abruptly  away. 

"Who  will  help  me  bury  this  man?  "  asked  Cecil. 
No  one  replied ;  and  he  went  alone  and  cut  the 
thongs  that  bound  the  body  to  the  stake.  But  as  he 
stooped  to  raise  it,  a  tall  fine-looking  man,  a  rene 
gade  from  the  Shoshones,  who  had  taken  no  part  in 
the  torture,  came  forward  to  help  him.  Together 
they  bore  the  corpse  away  from  the  camp  to  the  hill 
side  ;  together  they  hollowed  out  a  shallow  grave  and 
stretched  the  body  in  it,  covering  it  with  earth  and 
heaping  stones  on  top,  that  the  cayote  might  not  dis 
turb  the  last  sleep  of  the  dead. 

When  they  returned  to  the  camp,  they  found  a  war- 
party  already  in  the  saddle,  with  Snoqualmie  at  their 
head,  ready  to  take  the  Bannock  trail.  But  before 
they  left  the  camp,  a  runner  entered  it  with  a  sum 
mons  from  Multnomah  calling  them  to  the  great 
council  of  the  tribes  on  Wappatto  Island,  for  which 
they  must  start  on  the  morrow. 


ON  THE    WAY  TO    THE   COUNCIL.          103 


CHAPTER   II. 

ON   THE   WAY   TO   THE    COUNCIL. 

They  arrived  at  the  village  of  Wishram. 

IRVING  :  Astoria. 

HPHE  camp  was  all  astir  at  dawn,  for  sunset  must 
-*-  see  them  far  on  the  way.  They  must  first  cross 
the  prairies  to  the  northward  till  they  struck  the 
Columbia,  then  take  the  great  trail  leading  down  it 
to  the  Willamette  valley.  It  was  a  two  days'  journey 
at  the  least. 

Squaws  were  preparing  a  hurried  meal ;  lodge-poles 
were  being  taken  down  and  the  mats  that  covered 
them  rolled  up  and  strapped  on  the  backs  of  horses ; 
Indians,  yelling  and  vociferating,  were  driving  up 
bands  of  horses  from  which  pack  and  riding  ponies 
were  to  be  selected ;  unbroken  animals  were  rearing 
and  plunging  beneath  their  first  burdens,  while  mon 
grel  curs  ran  barking  at  their  heels.  Here  and  there 
unskilful  hands  were  throwing  the  lasso  amid  the  jeers 
and  laughter  of  the  spectators.  All  was  tumult  and 
excitement. 

At  length  they  were  under  way.  First  rode  the 
squaws,  driving  before  them  pack-horses  and  ponies, 
for  the  herds  and  entire  movable  property  of  the 
tribe  accompanied  it  in  all  its  marches.  The  squaws 
rode  astride,  like  men,  in  the  rude  wooden  saddles 
that  one  yet  sees  used  by  the  wilder  Indians  of  eastern 


104  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

Oregon  and  Idaho,  —  very  high,  both  before  and  be 
hind,  looking  like  exaggerated  pack-saddles.  A  hair 
rope,  tied  around  the  lower  jaw  of  the  horse,  answered 
for  a  bridle.  To  this  must  be  added  the  quirt,  a 
short  double-lashed  whip  fastened  into  a  hollow  and 
curiously  carved  handle.  The  application  of  this 
whip  was  so  constant  as  to  keep  the  right  arm  in  con 
tinual  motion ;  so  that  even  to-day  on  the  frontier  an 
Indian  rider  can  be  distinguished  from  a  white  man, 
at  a  distance,  by  the  constant  rising  and  falling  of  the 
whip  arm.  With  the  squaws  were  the  children,  some 
of  whom,  not  over  four,  five,  and  six  years  of  age,  rode 
alone  on  horseback,  tied  in  the  high  saddles ;  manag 
ing  their  steeds  with  instinctive  skill,  and  when  the 
journey  became  fatiguing,  going  to  sleep,  secured  by 
their  fastenings  from  falling  off. 

Next  came  the  men,  on  the  best  horses,  unencum 
bered  by  weight  of  any  kind  and  armed  with  bow  and 
arrow.  Here  and  there  a  lance  pointed  with  flint,  a 
stone  knife  or  hatchet,  or  a  heavy  war-club,  hung  at 
the  saddle ;  but  the  bow  and  arrow  constituted  their 
chief  weapon. 

The  men  formed  a  kind  of  rear-guard,  protecting  the 
migrating  tribe  from  any  sudden  assault  on  the  part 
of  the  Bannocks.  There  were  perhaps  two  hundred 
fighting-men  in  all.  Snoqualmie  was  at  their  head, 
and  beside  him  rode  the  young  Willamette  runner 
who  had  brought  the  summons  from  Multnomah  the 
day  before.  The  Willamette  was  on  horseback  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life.  The  inland  or  prairie  tribes 
of  eastern  Oregon,  coming  as  they  did  in  contact  with 
tribes  whose  neighbors  bordered  on  Mexico,  had 
owned  horses  for  perhaps  a  generation ;  but  the  sea- 


ON  THE    WAY  TO    THE   COUNCIL.         105 

board  tribes  owned  very  few,  and  there  were  tribes 
on  Puget  Sound  and  at  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia 
who  had  never  seen  them.  Even  the  Willamettes, 
sovereign  tribe  of  the  confederacy  though  they  were, 
had  but  few  horses. 

This  morning  the  young  Willamette  had  bought  a 
colt,  giving  for  it  a  whole  string  of  hiagua  shells.  It 
was  a  pretty,  delicate  thing,  and  he  was  proud  of  it, 
and  had  shown  his  pride  by  slitting  its  ears  and  cut 
ting  off  its  tail,  as  was  the  barbarous  custom  with 
many  of  the  Indians.  He  sat  on  the  little  creature 
now ;  and  loaded  as  it  was  with  the  double  weight  of 
himself  and  the  heavy  wooden  saddle,  it  could  hardly 
keep  pace  with  the  older  and  stronger  horses. 

In  the  rear  of  all  rode  Cecil  Grey  and  the  Shoshone 
renegade  who  had  helped  him  bury  the  dead  Bannock 
the  evening  before.  Cecil's  form  was  as  slight  and 
graceful  in  its  Indian  garb  as  in  days  gone  by,  and 
his  face  was  still  the  handsome,  sensitive  face  it  had 
been  eight  years  before.  It  was  stronger  now,  more 
resolute  and  mature,  and  from  long  intercourse  with 
the  Indians  there  had  come  into  it  something  grave 
and  Indian-like  ;  but  it  only  gave  more  of  dignity  to  his 
mien.  His  brown  beard  swept  his  breast,  and  his  face 
was  bronzed ;  but  the  lips  quivered  under  the  beard, 
and  the  cheek  flushed  and  paled  under  the  bronze. 

What  had  he  been  doing  in  the  eight  years  that 
had  elapsed  since  he  left  his  New  England  home  ? 
Let  us  listen  to  his  story  in  his  own  words  as  he  tells 
it  to  the  Shoshone  renegade  by  his  side. 

"  I  lived  in  a  land  far  to  the  east,  beside  a  great 
water.  My  people  were  white  like  myself.  I  was 
one  of  an  order  of  men  whom  the  Great  Spirit  had 


106  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

appointed  to  preach  of  goodness,  mercy,  and  truth, 
and  to  explain  to  the  people  the  sayings  of  a  mighty 
book  which  he  had  given  to  the  fathers,  —  a  book  that 
told  how  men  should  live  in  this  world,  and  said  that 
a  beautiful  place  in  the  next  would  be  given  those 
who  are  good  and  true  in  this.  But  by  and  by  the 
Great  Spirit  began  to  whisper  to  me  of  the  Indians  in 
the  wilderness  who  knew  nothing  of  the  book  or  the 
hope  within  it,  and  a  longing  rose  within  me  to  go 
and  tell  them ;  but  there  were  ties  that  held  me  to 
my  own  people,  and  I  knew  not  what  to  do.  Death 
cut  those  ties ;  and  in  my  hour  of  grief  there  came 
to  me  a  vision  of  a  great  bridge  far  in  the  west,  and 
of  Indians  passing  over  it,  and  a  voice  spoke  to  me 
and  bade  me  go  and  seek  the  land  of  the  bridge,  for 
the  Great  Spirit  had  a  mission  for  me  there ;  and  I 
went  forth  into  the  wilderness.  I  met  many  tribes 
and  tarried  with  them,  telling  them  of  God.  Many 
were  evil  and  treated  me  harshly,  others  were  kind 
and  listened.  Some  loved  me  and  wished  me  to 
abide  always  in  their  lodges  and  be  one  of  them.  But 
even  while  they  spoke  the  Great  Spirit  whispered  to 
me  to  go  on,  and  an  unrest  rose  within  me,  and  I 
could  not  stay. 

"  So  the  years  went  by,  and  I  wandered  farther  and 
farther  to  the  west,  across  rivers  and  deserts,  till  I 
reached  this  tribe ;  and  they  said  that  farther  on, 
toward  the  land  of  the  Willamettes,  a  great  river 
flowed  through  the  mountains,  and  across  it  was  a 
bridge  of  stone  built  by  the  gods  when  the  world  was 
young.  Then  I  knew  that  it  was  the  bridge  of  my 
vision,  and  the  unrest  came  back  and  I  arose  to  go. 
But  the  tribe  kept  me,  half  as  guest  and  half  as  pris- 


ON  THE    WAY  TO    THE   COUNCIL.          107 

oner,  and  would  not  let  me  depart ;  until  last  night  the 
runner  came  summoning  them  to  the  council.  Now 
they  go,  taking  me  with  them.  I  shall  see  the  land 
of  the  bridge  and  perform  the  work  the  Great  Spirit 
has  given  me  to  do." 

The  old  grand  enthusiasm  shone  in  his  look  as  he 
closed.  The  Shoshone  regarded  him  with  grave 
attention. 

"What  became  of  the  book  that  told  of  God?"  he 
asked  earnestly. 

"  A  chief  took  it  from  me  and  burned  it ;  but  its 
words  were  written  on  my  heart,  and  they  could  not 
be  destroyed." 

They  rode  on  for  a  time  in  silence.  The  way  was 
rugged,  the  country  a  succession  of  canyons  and 
ridges  covered  with  green  and  waving  grass  but  bare 
of  trees.  Behind  them,  the  Blue  Mountains  were 
receding  in  the  distance.  To  the  west,  Mt.  Hood, 
the  great  white  "Witch  Mountain"  of  the  Indians, 
towered  over  the  prairie,  streaking  the  sky  with  a  long 
floating  wreath  of  volcanic  smoke.  Before  them, 
as  they  journeyed  northward  toward  the  Columbia, 
stretched  out  the  endless  prairie.  Now  they  de 
scended  into  a  deep  ravine,  now  they  toiled  up  a 
steep  hillside.  The  country  literally  rolled,  undulating 
in  immense  ridges  around  and  over  which  the  long 
file  of  squaws  and  warriors,  herds  and  pack-horses, 
wound  like  a  serpent.  From  the  bands  ahead  came 
shouts  and  outcries,  —  the  sounds  of  rude  merriment ; 
and  above  all  the  long-drawn  intonation  so  familiar 
to  those  who  have  been  much  with  Indian  horsemen, 
—  the  endlessly  repeated  "  ho-ha,  ho-ha,  ho -ha,"  a 
kind  of  crude  riding-song. 


108  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

After  a  while  Cecil  said,  "  I  have  told  you  the  story 
of  my  life,  will  you  not  tell  me  the  story  of  yours?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  renegade,  after  a  moment's 
thought ;  "  you  have  shown  me  your  heart  as  if  you 
were  my  brother.  Now  I  will  show  you  mine. 

"  I  was  a  Shoshone  warrior.1  There  was  a  girl  in 
our  village  whom  I  had  loved  from  childhood.  We 
played  together;  we  talked  of  how,  when  I  became 
a  man  and  a  warrior,  she  should  become  my  wife ; 
she  should  keep  my  wigwam ;  we  would  always  love 
one  another.  She  grew  up,  and  the  chief  offered  many 
horses  for  her.  Her  father  took  them.  She  became 
the  chiefs  wife,  and  all  my  heart  withered  up.  Every 
thing  grew  dark.  I  sat  in  my  wigwam  or  wandered 
in  the  forest,  caring  for  nothing. 

"When  I  met  her,  she  turned  her  face  aside,  for 
was  she  not  the  wife  of  another?  Yet  I  knew  her 
heart  hungered  for  me.  The  chief  knew  it  too,  and 
when  he  spoke  to  her  a  cloud  was  ever  on  his  brow 
and  sharp  lightning  on  his  tongue.  But  she  was  true. 
Whose  lodge  was  as  clean  as  his?  The  wood  was 
always  carried,  the  water  at  hand,  the  meat  cooked. 
She  searched  the  very  thought  that  was  in  his  heart 
to  save  him  the  trouble  of  speaking.  He  could  never 
say,  '  Why  is  it  not  done  ? '  But  her  heart  was  mine, 
and  he  knew  it ;  and  he  treated  her  like  a  dog  and  not 
like  a  wife. 

"  Me  too  he  tried  to  tread  under  foot.  One  day 
we  assembled  to  hunt  the  buffalo.  Our  horses  were 
all  collected.  Mine  stood  before  my  tent,  and  he 
came  and  took  them  away,  saying  that  they  were  his. 
What  could  I  do  ?  He  was  a  chief. 

1  See  Bonneville's  Adventures,  chapters  xiii.  and  xlviii. 


ON  THE    WAY  TO    THE   COUNCIL.          109 

"  I  came  no  more  to  the  council,  I  shared  no  more 
in  the  hunt  and  the  war-dance.  I  was  unhorsed,  de 
graded,  dishonored.  He  told  his  wife  what  he  had 
done,  and  when  she  wept  he  beat  her. 

"  One  evening  I  stood  on  a  knoll  overlooking  the 
meadow  where  the  horses  were  feeding ;  the  chiefs 
horses  were  there,  and  mine  with  them.  I  saw  him 
walking  among  them.  The  sight  maddened  me  ;  my 
blood  burned  ;  I  leaped  on  him  ;  with  two  blows  I  laid 
him  dead  at  my  feet.  I  covered  him  with  earth  and 
strewed  leaves  over  the  place.  Then  I  went  to  her 
and  told  her  what  I  had  done,  and  urged  her  to  fly 
with  me.  She  answered  only  with  tears.  I  reminded 
her  of  all  she  had  suffered,  and  told  her  I  had  done 
only  what  was  just.  I  urged  her  again  to  fly.  She 
only  wept  the  more,  and  bade  me  go.  My  heart  was 
heavy  but  my  eyes  were  dry. 

"  '  It  is  well,'  I  said,  '  I  will  go  alone  to  the  desert. 
None  but  the  wild  beasts  of  the  wilderness  will  be 
with  me.  The  seekers  of  blood  will  follow  on  my 
trail ;  they  may  come  on  me  while  I  am  asleep  and 
slay  me,  but  you  will  be  safe.  I  will  go  alone.' 

"  I  turned  to  go.  She  sprang  after  me.  '  No,'  she 
cried,  '  you  shall  not  go  alone.  Wherever  you  go  I 
will  go  :  you  shall  never  part  from  me.' 

"While  we  were  talking,  one  who  had  seen  me 
slay  the  chief  and  had  roused  the  camp,  came  with 
others.  We  heard  their  steps  approaching  the  door, 
and  knew  that  death  came  with  them.  We  escaped 
at  the  back  of  the  lodge,  but  they  saw  us  and  their 
arrows  flew.  She  fell,  and  I  caught  her  in  my  arms 
and  fled  into  the  wood.  When  we  were  safe  I  looked 
at  her  I  carried,  and  she  was  dead.  An  arrow  had 


HO  THE  BRIDGE   OF   THE   CODS. 

pierced  her  heart.  I  buried  her  that  night  beneath 
a  heap  of  stones,  and  fled  to  the  Cayuses.  That  is  my 
story." 

"What  will  you  do  now?"  asked  Cecil,  deeply 
touched. 

"  I  shall  live  a  man's  life.  I  shall  hunt  and  go  on 
the  war-trail,  and  say  strong  words  in  the  council. 
And  when  my  life  is  ended,  when  the  sunset  and  the 
night  come  to  me  and  I  go  forth  into  the  darkness,  I 
know  I  shall  find  her  I  love  waiting  for  me  beside  the 
death-trail  that  leads  to  the  spirit-land." 

The  tears  came  into  Cecil's  eyes. 

"  I  too  have  known  sorrow,"  he  said,  "  and  like  you 
I  am  a  wanderer  from  my  own  people.  We  are  going 
together  into  an  unknown  land,  knowing  not  what 
may  befall  us.  Let  us  be  friends." 

And  he  held  out  his  hand.  The  Indian  took  it,  — 
awkwardly,  as  an  Indian  always  takes  the  hand  of  a 
white  man,  but  warmly,  heartily. 

"  We  are  brothers,"  he  said  simply.  And  as  Cecil 
rode  on  with  the  wild  troop  into  the  unknown  world 
before  him,  he  felt  that  there  was  one  beside  him  who 
would  be  faithful,  no  matter  what  befell. 

The  long  day  wore  on ;  the  sun  rose  to  the  zenith 
and  sunk,  and  still  the  Indians  pushed  forward.  It 
was  a  long,  forced  march,  and  Cecil  was  terribly 
fatigued  when  at  last  one  of  the  Indians  told  him  that 
they  were  near  a  big  river  where  they  would  camp  for 
the  night. 

"  One  sun  more,"  said  the  Indian,  pointing  to  the 
sun  now  sinking  in  the  west,  "  and  you  will  see  the 
Bridge  of  the  Gods." 

The  news  re-animated  Cecil,  and  he  hurried  on.    A 


ON  THE    WAY  TO    THE   COUNCIL.          Hi 

shout  rose  from  the  Indians  in  advance.  He  saw  the 
head  of  the  long  train  of  horses  and  riders  pause  and 
look  downward  and  the  Indians  at  the  rear  gallop  for 
ward.  Cecil  and  his  friend  followed  and  joined  them. 

"  The  river  !  the  river  !  "  cried  the  Indians,  as  they 
rode  up.  The  scene  below  was  one  of  gloomy  but 
magnificent  beauty.  Beneath  them  opened  an  im 
mense  canyon,  stupendous  even  in  that  land  of  can 
yons,  —  the  great  canyon  of  the  Columbia.  The  walls 
were  brown,  destitute  of  verdure,  sinking  downward 
from  their  feet  in  yawning  precipices  or  steep  slopes. 
At  the  bottom,  more  than  a  thousand  feet  below, 
wound  a  wide  blue  river,  the  gathered  waters  of  half 
a  continent.  Beneath  them,  the  river  plunged  over  a 
long  low  precipice  with  a  roar  that  filled  the  canyon 
for  miles.  Farther  on,  the  flat  banks  encroached  upon 
the  stream  till  it  seemed  narrowed  to  a  silver  thread 
among  the  jutting  rocks.  Still  farther,  it  widened 
again,  swept  grandly  around  a  bend  in  the  distance, 
and  passed  from  sight. 

"  Tuum,  tuum"  said  the  Indians  to  Cecil,  in  tones 
that  imitated  the  roar  of  the  cataract.  It  was  the 
"Turn"  of  Lewis  and  Clark,  the  "Tumwater"  of 
more  recent  times ;  and  the  place  below,  where  the 
compressed  river  wound  like  a  silver  thread  among 
the  flat  black  rocks,  was  the  far-famed  Dalles  of  the 
Columbia.  It  was  superb,  and  yet  there  was  some 
thing  profoundly  lonely  and  desolate  about  it,  —  the 
majestic  river  flowing  on  forever  among  barren  rocks 
and  crags,  shut  in  by  mountain  and  desert,  wrapped 
in  an  awful  solitude  where  from  age  to  age  scarce 
a  sound  was  heard  save  the  cry  of  wild  beasts  or 
wilder  men. 


112  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

"  It  is  the  very  river  of  death  and  of  desolation," 
thought  Cecil.  "  It  looks  lonely,  forsaken,  as  if  no 
eye  had  beheld  it  from  the  day  of  creation  until  now." 

Looking  again  at  the  falls,  he  saw,  what  he  had 
not  before  noticed,  a  large  camp  of  Indians  on  the 
side  nearest  them.  Glancing  across  the  river,  he 
descried  on  a  knoll  on  the  opposite  bank  —  what? 
Houses  !  He  could  not  believe  his  eyes ;  could  it  be 
possible  ?  Yes,  they  certainly  were  long,  low  houses, 
roofed  as  the  white  man  roofs  his.  A  sudden  wild 
hope  thrilled  him ;  his  brain  grew  dizzy.  He  turned 
to  one  of  the  Indians. 

"  Who  built  those  houses?  "  he  exclaimed;  "white 
men  like  me?  " 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  Indians." 

Cecil's  heart  died  within  him.  "  After  all,"  he 
murmured,  "  it  was  absurd  to  expect  to  find  a  settle 
ment  of  white  men  here.  How  could  I  think  that 
any  but  Indians  had  built  those  houses?  " 

Still,  as  they  descended  the  steep  zigzag  pathway 
leading  down  to  the  river,  he  could  not  help  gazing 
again  and  again  at  the  buildings  that  so  reminded 
him  of  home. 

It  was  Wishram,  the  ancient  village  of  the  falls, 
whose  brave  and  insolent  inhabitants,  more  than  a  cen 
tury  later,  were  the  dread  of  the  early  explorers  and 
fur  traders  of  the  Columbia.  It  was  built  at  the  last 
and  highest  fishery  on  the  Columbia,  for  the  salmon 
could  not  at  that  time  ascend  the  river  above  the 
falls.  All  the  wandering  tribes  of  the  Upper  Colum 
bia  came  there  to  fish  or  to  buy  salmon  of  the  Wish 
ram  fishers.  There  too  the  Indians  of  the  Lower 


ON  THE    WAY  TO    THE   COUNCIL.          113 

Columbia  and  the  Willamette  met  them,  and  bartered 
the  hiagua  shells,  the  dried  berries,  and  wappatto  of 
their  country  for  the  bear  claws  and  buffalo  robes  of 
the  interior.  It  was  a  rendezvous  where  buying,  sell 
ing,  gambling,  dancing,  feasting  took  the  place  of  war 
and  the  chase ;  though  the  ever  burning  enmities  of 
the  tribes  sometimes  flamed  into  deadly  feuds  and  the 
fair-ground  not  infrequently  became  a  field  of  battle. 

The  houses  of  Wishram  were  built  of  logs,  the  walls 
low,  the  lower  half  being  below  the  surface  of  the 
ground,  so  that  they  were  virtually  half  cellar.  At 
a  distance,  the  log  walls  and  arched  roofs  gave  them 
very  much  the  appearance  of  a  frontier  town  of  the 
whites. 

As  they  descended  to  the  river-side,  Cecil  looked 
again  and  again  at  the  village,  so  different  from  the 
skin  or  bark  lodges  of  the  Rocky  Mountain  tribes  he 
had  been  with  so  long.  But  the  broad  and  sweeping 
river  flowed  between,  and  his  gaze  told  him  little 
more  than  his  first  glance  had  done. 

They  were  now  approaching  the  camp.  Some  of 
the  younger  braves  at  the  head  of  the  Cayuse  train 
dashed  toward  it,  yelling  and  whooping  in  the  wildest 
manner.  Through  the  encampment  rang  an  answer 
ing  shout. 

"  The  Cayuses  !  the  Cayuses  !  and  the  white  medi 
cine-man  !  " 

The  news  spread  like  wildfire,  and  men  came  run 
ning  from  all  directions  to  greet  the  latest  arrivals. 
It  was  a  scene  of  abject  squalor  that  met  Cecil's  eyes 
as  he  rode  with  the  others  into  the  camp.  Never  had 
he  seen  among  the  Indian  races  aught  so  degraded  as 
those  Columbia  River  tribes. 
8 


H4      THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

The  air  was  putrid  with  decaying  fish ;  the  very 
skins  and  mats  that  covered  the  lodge-poles  were 
black  with  rancid  salmon  and  filth.  Many  of  the  men 
were  nude ;  most  of  the  women  wore  only  a  short 
garment  of  skin  or  woven  cedar  bark  about  the  waist, 
falling  scarcely  to  the  knees.  The  heads  of  many  had 
been  artificially  flattened ;  their  faces  were  brutal ;  their 
teeth  worn  to  the  gums  with  eating  sanded  salmon ; 
and  here  and  there  bleared  and  unsightly  eyes  showed 
the  terrible  prevalence  of  ophthalmia.  Salmon  were 
drying  in  the  sun  on  platforms  raised  above  the  reach 
of  dogs.  Half-starved  horses  whose  raw  and  bleeding 
mouths  showed  the  effect  of  the  hair-rope  bridles,  and 
whose  projecting  ribs  showed  their  principal  nutri 
ment  to  be  sage-brush  and  whip-lash,  were  picketed 
among  the  lodges.  Cayote-like  dogs  and  unclad 
children,  shrill  and  impish,  ran  riot,  fighting  together 
for  half-dried,  half-decayed  pieces  of  salmon.  Pre 
vailing  over  everything  was  the  stench  which  is  unique 
and  unparalleled  among  the  stenches  of  the  earth,  — 
the  stench  of  an  Indian  camp  at  a  Columbia  fishery.1 

Perhaps  ten  of  the  petty  inland  tribes  had  assem 
bled  there  as  their  starting-point  for  the  great  coun 
cil  at  Wappatto  Island.  All  had  heard  rumors  of 
the  white  man  who  had  appeared  among  the  tribes 
to  the  south  saying  that  the  Great  Spirit  had  sent  him 
to  warn  the  Indians  to  become  better,  and  all  were 
anxious  to  see  him.  They  pointed  him  out  to  one 
another  as  he  rode  up,  —  the  man  of  graceful  presence 
and  delicate  build ;  they  thronged  around  him,  naked 

1  See  Townsend's  Narrative,  pages  137, 138.  Both  Lewis  and  Clark 
and  Ross  Cox  substantiate  his  description ;  indeed,  very  much  the  same 
thing  can  be  seen  at  the  Tumwater  Fishery  to-day. 


ON  THE    WAY  TO    THE   COUNCIL.          115 

men  and  half-clad  women,  squalid,  fierce  as  wild 
beasts,  and  gazed  wonderingly. 

"It  is  he,  the  white  man,"  they  whispered  among 
themselves.  "  See  the  long  beard."  "  See  the  white 
hands."  "  Stand  back,  the  Great  Spirit  sent  him  ;  he 
is  strong  tomanowos  ;  beware  his  anger." 

Now  the  horses  were  unpacked  and  the  lodges 
pitched,  under  the  eyes  of  the  larger  part  of  the 
encampment,  who  watched  everything  with  insatiable 
curiosity,  and  stole  all  that  they  could  lay  their  hands 
on.  Especially  did  they  hang  on  every  motion  of 
Cecil;  and  he  sank  very  much  in  their  estimation 
when  they  found  that  he  helped  his  servant,  the  old 
Indian  woman,  put  up  his  lodge. 

"Ugh,  he  does  squaw's  work,"  was  the  ungracious 
comment.  After  awhile,  when  the  lodge  was  up  and 
Cecil  lay  weary  and  exhausted  upon  his  mat  within  it, 
a  messenger  entered  and  told  him  that  the  Indians 
were  all  collected  near  the  river  bank  and  wished  him 
to  come  and  give  them  the  "  talk  "  he  had  brought 
from  the  Great  Spirit. 

Worn  as  he  was,  Cecil  arose  and  went.  It  was  in 
the  interval  between  sunset  and  dark.  The  sun  still 
shone  on  the  cliffs  above  the  great  canyon,  but  in  the 
spaces  below  the  shadows  were  deepening.  On  the 
flat  rocks  near  the  bank  of  the  river,  and  close  by 
the  falls  of  Tumwater,  the  Indians  were  gathered  to 
the  number  of  several  hundred,  awaiting  him,  —  some 
squatting,  Indian  fashion,  on  the  ground,  others 
standing  upright,  looking  taller  than  human  in  the 
dusky  light.  Mingled  with  the  debased  tribes  that 
made  up  the  larger  part  of  the  gathering,  Cecil  saw 
here  and  there  warriors  of  a  bolder  and  superior  race, 


Il6  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

—  Yakimas  and  Klickitats,  clad  in  skins  or  wrapped 
in  blankets  woven  of  the  wool  of  the  mountain  sheep. 

Cecil  stood  before  them  and  spoke,  using  the  Wil 
lamette  tongue,  the  language  of  common  intercourse 
between  the  tribes,  all  of  whom  had  different  dialects. 
The  audience  listened  in  silence  while  he  told  them 
of  the  goodness  and  compassion  of  the  Great  Spirit ; 
how  it  grieved  him  to  see  his  children  at  war  among 
themselves,  and  how  he,  Cecil,  had  been  sent  to  warn 
them  to  forsake  their  sins  and  live  better  lives.  Long 
familiarity  with  the  Indians  had  imparted  to  him 
somewhat  of  their  manner  of  thinking  and  speaking ; 
his  language  had  become  picturesque  with  Indian  im 
agery,  and  his  style  of  oratory  had  acquired  a  tinge 
of  Indian  gravity.  But  the  intense  and  vivid  spirit 
uality  that  had  ever  been  the  charm  of  his  eloquence 
was  in  it  still.  There  was  something  in  his  words 
that  for  the  moment,  and  unconsciously  to  them,  lifted 
his  hearers  to  a  higher  plane.  When  he  closed  there 
was  upon  them  that  vague  remorse,  that  dim  desire 
to  be  better,  that  indefinable  wistfulness,  which  his 
earnest,  tender  words  never  failed  to  arouse  in  his 
hearers. 

When  he  lifted  his  hands  at  the  close  of  his  "  talk," 
and  prayed  that  the  Great  Spirit  might  pity  them,  that 
he  might  take  away  from  them  the  black  and  wicked 
heart  of  war  and  hate  and  give  them  the  new  heart 
of  peace  and  love,  the  silence  was  almost  breathless, 
broken  only  by  the  unceasing  roar  of  the  falls  and  the 
solemn  pleading  of  the  missionary's  voice. 

He  left  them  and  returned  through  the  deepening 
shadows  to  his  lodge.  There  he  flung  himself  on  the 
couch  of  furs  the  old  Indian  woman  had  spread  for 


ON  THE    WAY  TO   THE   COUNCIL.          117 

him.  Fatigued  with  the  long  ride  of  the  day  and  the 
heavy  draught  his  address  had  made  on  an  overtaxed 
frame,  he  tried  to  sleep. 

But  he  could  not.  The  buildings  of  the  town  of 
Wishram  across  the  river,  so  like  the  buildings  of  the 
white  man,  had  awakened  a  thousand  memories  of 
home.  Vivid  pictures  of  his  life  in  New  England 
and  in  the  cloisters  of  Magdalen  came  before  his 
sleepless  eyes.  The  longing  for  the  refined  and 
pleasant  things  that  had  filled  his  life  rose  strong  and 
irrepressible  within  him.  Such  thoughts  were  never 
entirely  absent  from  his  mind,  but  at  times  they  seemed 
to  dominate  him  completely,  driving  him  into  a  per 
fect  fever  of  unrest  and  discontent.  After  tossing 
for  hours  on  his  couch,  he  arose  and  went  out  into 
the  open  air. 

The  stars  were  bright ;  the  moon  flooded  the  wide 
canyon  with  lustre ;  the  towering  walls  rose  dim  and 
shadowy  on  either  side  of  the  river  whose  waters 
gleamed  white  in  the  moonlight ;  the  solemn  roar  of 
the  falls  filled  the  silence  of  the  night. 

Around  him  was  the  barbarian  encampment,  with 
here  and  there  a  fire  burning  and  a  group  of  warriors 
talking  beside  it.  He  walked  forth  among  the  lodges. 
Some  were  silent,  save  for  the  heavy  breathing  of  the 
sleepers ;  others  were  lighted  up  within,  and  he  could 
hear  the  murmur  of  voices. 

At  one  place  he  found  around  a  large  fire  a  crowd 
who  were  feasting,  late  as  was  the  hour,  and  boasting 
of  their  exploits.  He  stood  in  the  shadow  a  moment 
and  listened.  One  of  them  concluded  his  tale  by 
springing  to  his  feet,  advancing  a  few  paces  from  the 
circle  of  firelight,  and  making  a  fierce  speech  to  invisi- 


Il8  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

ble  foes.  Looking  toward  the  land  of  the  Shoshones, 
he  denounced  them  with  the  utmost  fury,  dared  them 
to  face  him,  scorned  them  because  they  did  not  appear, 
and  ended  by  shaking  his  tomahawk  in  their  direction, 
amid  the  applause  of  his  comrades. 

Cecil  passed  on  and  reached  the  outer  limit  of  the 
camp.  There,  amid  some  large  bowlders,  he  almost 
stumbled  on  a  band  of  Indians  engaged  in  some  grisly 
ceremony.  He  saw  them,  however,  in  time  to  escape 
observation  and  screen  himself  behind  one  of  the 
rocks. 

One  of  the  Indians  held  a  rattlesnake  pinned  to 
the  ground  with  a  forked  stick.  Another  held  out  a 
piece  of  liver  to  the  snake  and  was  provoking  him  to 
bite  it.  Again  and  again  the  snake,  quivering  with 
fury  and  rattling  savagely,  plunged  his  fangs  into  the 
liver.  Several  Indians  stood  looking  on,  with  arrows 
in  their  hands.  At  length,  when  the  meat  was  thor 
oughly  impregnated  with  the  virus,  the  snake  was 
released  and  allowed  to  crawl  away.  Then  they  all 
dipped  the  points  of  their  arrows  in  the  poisoned 
liver,1  carefully  marking  the  shaft  of  each  in  order  to 
distinguish  it  from  those  not  poisoned.  None  of  them 
saw  Cecil,  and  he  left  without  being  discovered. 

Why  did  they  wish  to  go  to  the  council  with 
poisoned  arrows? 

Further  on,  among  the  rocks  and  remote  from  the 
camp,  he  saw  a  great  light  and  heard  a  loud  hallooing. 
He  went  cautiously  toward  it.  He  found  a  large  fire 
in  an  open  space,  and  perhaps  thirty  savages,  stripped 

1  See  Bancroft's  Native  Races,  article  "  Columbians."  A 
bunch  of  arrows  so  poisoned  is  in  the  Museum  of  the  Oregon  State 
University  at  Eugene. 


ON  THE    WAY  TO    THE   COUNCIL.          119 

and  painted,  dancing  around  it,  brandishing  their 
weapons  and  chanting  a  kind  of  war-chant.  On 
every  face,  as  the  firelight  fell  on  it,  was  mad  ferocity 
and  lust  of  war.  Near  them  lay  the  freshly  killed 
body  of  a  horse  whose  blood  they  had  been  drinking. 
Drunk  with  frenzy,  drunk  with  blood,  they  danced 
and  whirled  in  that  wild  saturnalia  till  Cecil  grew 
dizzy  with  the  sight.1 

He  made  his  way  back  to  the  camp  and  sought  his 
lodge.  He  heard  the  wolves  howling  on  the  hills,  and 
a  dark  presentiment  of  evil  crept  over  him. 

"  It  is  not  to  council  that  these  men  are  going,  but 
to  war,"  he  murmured,  as  he  threw  himself  on  his 
couch.  "  God  help  me  to  be  faithful,  whatever 
comes  !  God  help  me  to  keep  my  life  and  my  words 
filled  with  his  spirit,  so  that  these  savage  men  may  be 
drawn  to  him  and  made  better,  and  my  mission  be 
fulfilled  !  I  can  never  hope  to  see  the  face  of  white 
man  again,  but  I  can  live  and  die  faithful  to  the  last." 

So  thinking,  a  sweet  and  restful  peace  came  to  him, 
and  he  fell  asleep.  And  even  while  he  thought  how 
impossible  it  was  for  him  ever  to  reach  the  land  of 
the  white  man  again,  an  English  exploring-ship  lay  at 
anchor  at  Yaquina  Bay,  only  two  days'  ride  distant ; 
and  on  it  were  some  who  had  known  and  loved  him 
in  times  gone  by,  but  who  had  long  since  thought 
him  lost  in  the  wilderness  forever. 

1  living's  "  Astoria,"  chap.  xli. 


120  THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE   GREAT   CAMP   ON   THE  ISLAND. 

Of  different  language,  form  and  face, 
A  various  race  of  men. 

SCOTT. 

say  that  we  shall  see  the  Bridge  of  the  Gods 
to-day?  "  asked  Cecil  of  the  young  Willamette 
runner  the  next  morning.  "Tell  me  about  it;  is  it 
high?" 

The  young  Willamette  rose  to  his  full  height,  arched 
his  right  hand  above  his  eyes,  looked  skyward  with  a 
strained  expression  as  if  gazing  up  at  an  immense 
height,  and  emitted  a  prolonged  "  ah-h-h  !  " 

That  was  all,  but  it  was  enough  to  bring  the  light 
to  Cecil's  eyes  and  a  sudden  triumphant  gladness  to 
his  heart.  At  last  he  approached  the  land  of  his 
vision,  at  last  he  should  find  the  bridge  whose  wraith 
had  faded  before  him  into  the  west  eight  years  before  ! 

The  Cayuse  band  had  started  early  that  morning. 
The  chief  Snoqualmie  was  impatient  of  delay,  and 
wished  to  be  one  of  the  earliest  at  the  council ;  he 
wanted  to  signalize  himself  in  the  approaching  struggle 
by  his  loyalty  to  Multnomah,  whose  daughter  he  was 
to  marry  and  whom  he  was  to  succeed  as  war-chief. 

The  women  were  in  advance,  driving  the  pack- 
horses  ;  Cecil  rode  behind  them  with  the  Shoshone 
renegade  and  the  young  Willamette  runner;  while 
Snoqualmie  brought  up  the  rear,  looking  sharply  after 


THE   GREAT  CAMP  ON  THE  ISLAND.     121 

stragglers,  —  for  some  of  his  young  men  were  very 
much  inclined  to  linger  at  the  rendezvous  and  indulge 
in  a  little  gambling  and  horse-racing  with  the  other 
bands,  who  were  not  to  start  till  later  in  the  day. 

The  young  Willamette  still  rode  the  pretty  little 
pony  whose  ears  and  tail  he  had  so  barbarously  muti 
lated.  It  reeled  under  him  from  sheer  weakness,  so 
young  was  it  and  so  worn  by  the  journey  of  the  day 
before.  In  vain  did  Cecil  expostulate.  With  true 
Indian  obtuseness  and  brutality,  the  Willamette  refused 
to  see  why  he  should  be  merciful  to  a  horse. 

"  Suppose  he  rode  me,  what  would  he  care  ?  Now 
I  ride  him,  what  do  I  care?  Suppose  he  die,  plenty 
more  hiagua  shells,  plenty  more  horses." 

After  which  logical  answer  he  plied  the  whip  harder 
than  ever,  making  the  pony  keep  up  with  the  stronger 
and  abler  horses  of  the  other  riders.  The  long  train  of 
squaws  and  warriors  wound  on  down  the  trail  by  the 
river-side.  In  a  little  while  Wishram  and  Tumwater 
passed  from  sight.  The  wind  began  to  blow ;  the 
ever  drifting  sand  of  the  Columbia  came  sifting  in 
their  faces.  They  passed  the  Dalles  of  the  Colum 
bia  ;  and  the  river  that,  as  seen  from  the  heights  the 
evening  before,  wound  like  a  silver  thread  among  the 
rocks,  was  found  to  be  a  compressed  torrent  that 
rushed  foaming  along  the  narrow  passage,  —  literally, 
as  it  has  been  described,  "  a  river  turned  on  edge." 

There  too  they  passed  the  camp  of  the  Wascos, 
who  were  preparing  to  start,  but  suspended  their 
preparations  at  the  approach  of  the  cavalcade  and 
stood  along  the  path  eager  to  see  the  white  man. 
Cecil  noticed  that  as  they  descended  the  river  the 
language  of  the  local  tribes  became  more  gutteral,  and 


122  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

the  custom  of  flattening  the  head  prevailed  more  and 


more.1 

Below,  the  scenery  was  less  barren ;  the  river  en 
tered  the  Cascade  Range,  and  the  steep  banks,  along 
which  wound  the  trail,  grew  dark  with  pines,  relieved 
here  and  there  with  brighter  verdure.  They  saw 
bands  of  Indians  on  the  opposite  shore,  descending 
the  trail  along  that  side  on  the  way  to  the  council. 
Many  were  on  foot,  though  some  horses  were  among 
them.  They  were  Indians  of  the  nine  tribes  of  the 
Klickitat,  and  as  yet  had  but  few  horses.  A  century 
later  they  owned  thousands.  Indian  women  never 
accompanied  war-parties  ;  and  Cecil  noticed  that  some 
of  the  bands  were  composed  entirely  of  men,  which 
gave  them  the  appearance  of  going  to  war.  It  had 
an  ominous  and  doubtful  look. 

At  the  Wau-coma  (place  of  cottonwoods) ,  the 
modern  Hood  River,  they  found  the  tribe  that  inhab 
ited  that  beautiful  valley  already  on  the  march,  and 
the  two  bands  mingled  and  went  on  together.  The 
Wau-comas  seemed  to  be  peaceably  inclined,  for  their 
women  were  with  them. 

A  short  distance  below  the  Wau-coma,  the  young 
Willamette's  horse,  urged  till  it  could  go  no  farther, 
fell  beneath  him.  The  blood  gushed  from  its  nos 
trils  ;  in  a  few  moments  it  was  dead.  The  Willamette 
extricated  himself  from  it.  "A  bad  horse,  cultus 
[no  good]  !  "  he  said,  beating  it  with  his  whip.  After 
venting  his  anger  on  it  in  that  way,  he  strode  forward 
on  foot. 

And  now  Cecil  was  all  expectation,  on  the  alert 
for  the  first  sight  of  the  bridge. 

1  Lewis  and  Clark.     See  also  living's  "  Astoria." 


THE  GREAT  CAMP  ON  THE  ISLAND.     123 

"Shall  we  see  it  soon?"  he  asked  the  young 
Willamette. 

"  When  the  sun  is  there,  we  shall  see  it,"  replied 
the  Indian,  pointing  to  the  zenith.  The  sun  still 
lacked  several  hours  of  noon,  and  Cecil  had  to  re 
strain  his  impatience  as  best  he  could. 

Just  then  an  incident  occurred  that  for  the  time 
effectually  obliterated  all  thought  of  the  bridge,  and 
made  him  a  powerful  enemy  where  he  least  desired  one. 

At  a  narrow  place  in  the  trail,  the  loose  horses  that 
were  being  driven  at  the  head  of  the  column  became 
frightened  and  ran  back  upon  their  drivers.  In  a 
moment,  squaws,  pack-horses,  and  ponies  were  all 
mingled  together.  The  squaws  tried  in  vain  to  restore 
order ;  it  seemed  as  if  there  was  going  to  be  a  general 
stampede.  The  men  dashed  up  from  the  rear,  Sno- 
qualmie  and  Cecil  among  them.  Cecil's  old  nurse 
happened  to  be  in  Snoqualmie's  way.  The  horse  she 
rode  was  slow  and  obstinate;  and  when  she  attempted 
to  turn  aside  to  let  Snoqualmie  pass  he  would  not 
obey  the  rein,  and  the  chiefs  way  was  blocked.  To 
Snoqualmie  an  old  Indian  woman  was  little  more  than 
a  dog,  and  he  raised  his  whip  and  struck  her  across 
the  face. 

Like  a  flash,  Cecil  caught  the  chiefs  rein  and  lifted 
his  own  whip.  An  instant  more,  and  the  lash  would 
have  fallen  across  the  Indian's  face  j  but  he  remem 
bered  that  he  was  a  missionary,  that  he  was  violating 
his  own  precepts  of  forgiveness  in  the  presence  of 
those  whom  he  hoped  to  convert. 

The  blow  did  not  fall ;  he  grappled  with  his  anger 
and  held  it  back ;  but  Snoqualmie  received  from  him 
a  look  of  scorn  so  withering,  that  it  seemed  when 


124  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE    GODS. 

Cecil's  flashing  eyes  met  his  own  as  if  he  had  been 
struck,  and  he  grasped  his  tomahawk.  Cecil  released 
the  rein  and  turned  away  without  a  word.  Snoqual- 
mie  seemed  for  a  moment  to  deliberate  within  him 
self;  then  he  let  go  his  weapon  and  passed  on.  Order 
was  restored  and  the  march  resumed. 

"You  are  strong,"  said  the  Shoshone  renegade  to 
Cecil.  He  had  seen  the  whole  of  the  little  drama. 
"You  are  strong;  you  held  your  anger  down,  but 
your  eyes  struck  him  as  if  he  were  a  dog." 

Cecil  made  no  reply,  but  rode  on  thinking  that  he 
had  made  an  enemy.  He  regretted  what  had  hap 
pened  ;  and  yet,  when  he  recalled  the  insult,  his  blood 
burned  and  he  half  regretted  that  the  blow  had  not 
been  given.  So,  absorbed  in  painful  thought,  he  rode 
on,  till  a  murmur  passing  down  the  line  roused  him. 

"  The  bridge  !  The  bridge  !  " 

He  looked  up  hastily,  his  whole  frame  responding 
to  the  cry.  There  it  was  before  him,  and  only  a  short 
distance  away,  —  a  great  natural  bridge,  a  rugged  ridge 
of  stone,  pierced  with  a  wide  arched  tunnel  through 
which  the  waters  flowed,  extending  across  the  river. 
It  was  covered  with  stunted  pine  and  underbrush 
growing  in  every  nook  and  crevice ;  and  on  it  were 
Indian  horsemen  with  plumed  hair  and  rude  lances. 
It  was  the  bridge  of  the  Wauna,  the  Bridge  of  the 
Gods,  the  bridge  he  had  seen  in  his  vision  eight  years 
before. 

For  a  moment  his  brain  reeled,  everything  seemed 
shadowy  and  unreal,  and  he  half  expected  to  see  the 
bridge  melt,  like  the  vision,  into  mist  before  his  eyes. 

Like  one  in  a  dream,  he  rode  with  the  others  to 
the  place  where  the  path  turned  abruptly  and  led 


THE   GREAT  CAMP  ON   THE  ISLAND.      125 

over  the  bridge  to  the  northern  bank  of  the  Colum 
bia.  Like  one  in  a  dream  he  listened,  while  the 
young  Willamette  told  him  in  a  low  tone  that  this 
bridge  had  been  built  by  the  gods  when  the  world 
was  young,  that  it  was  the  tomanowos  of  the  Willam- 
ettes,  that  while  it  stood  they  would  be  strongest  of 
all  the  tribes,  and  that  if  it  fell  they  would  fall  with 
it.  As  they  crossed  it,  he  noted  how  the  great  arch 
rung  to  his  horse's  hoofs ;  he  noted  the  bushes  grow 
ing  low  down  to  the  tunnel's  edge ;  he  noted  how 
majestic  was  the  current  as  it  swept  into  the  vast  dark 
opening  below,  how  stately  the  trees  on  either  bank. 
Then  the  trail  turned  down  the  river-bank  again 
toward  the  Willamette,  and  the  dense  fir  forest  shut 
out  the  mysterious  bridge  from  Cecil's  backward  gaze. 

Solemnity  and  awe  came  to  him.  He  had  seen  the 
bridge  of  his  vision ;  he  had  in  truth  been  divinely 
called  to  his  work.  He  felt  that  the  sight  of  the 
bridge  was  both  the  visible  seal  of  God  upon  his 
mission  and  a  sign  that  its  accomplishment  was  close 
at  hand.  He  bowed  his  head  involuntarily,  as  in  the 
presence  of  the  Most  High.  He  felt  that  he  rode  to 
his  destiny,  that  for  him  all  things  converged  and  cul 
minated  at  the  great  council. 

They  had  not  advanced  far  into  the  wood  ere  the 
whole  train  came  to  a  sudden  halt.  Riding  forward, 
Cecil  found  a  band  of  horsemen  awaiting  them.  They 
were  Klickitats,  mounted  on  good  ponies ;  neither 
women  nor  pack-horses  were  with  tnem ;  they  were 
armed  and  painted,  and  their  stern  and  menacing 
aspect  was  more  like  that  of  men  who  were  on  the 
war-trail  than  of  men  who  were  riding  to  a  "  peace- 
talk." 


126  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

The  Cayuses  halted  a  short  distance  away.  Sno- 
qualmie  rode  forward  and  met  the  Klickitat  chief  in 
the  space  between  the  two  bands.  A  few  words 
passed,  fierce  and  questioning  on  the  part  of  the 
Klickitat,  guarded  and  reserved  on  the  part  of  the 
Cayuse.  Then  the  Klickitat  seemed  to  suggest  some 
thing  at  which  the  Cayuse  shook  his  head  indignantly. 
The  other  instantly  wheeled  his  horse,  rode  back  to 
his  band,  and  apparently  reported  what  Snoqualmie 
had  said ;  for  they  all  set  up  a  taunting  shout,  and 
after  flinging  derisive  words  and  gestures  at  the  Cay- 
uses,  turned  around  and  dashed  at  full  gallop  down 
the  trail,  leaving  the  Cayuses  covered  with  a  cloud  of 
dust. 

And  then  Cecil  knew  that  the  spectacle  meant  war. 

The  air  grew  softer  and  more  moist  as  they 
descended  the  western  slope  of  the  Cascade  Range. 
The  pines  gave  way  to  forests  of  fir,  the  underwood 
became  denser,  and  ferns  grew  thick  along  the  trail. 
It  had  rained  the  night  before,  and  the  boughs  and 
bushes  hung  heavy  with  pendant  drops.  Now  and 
then  an  Indian  rider,  brushing  against  some  vine  or 
maple  or  low  swaying  bough,  brought  down  upon  him 
self  a  drenching  shower.  The  disgusted  "  ugh  !  " 
of  the  victim  and  the  laughter  of  the  others  would 
bring  a  smile  to  even  Cecil's  lips. 

And  so  approaching  the  sea,  they  entered  the  great, 
wooded,  rainy  valley  of  the  lower  Columbia.  It  was 
like  a  different  world  from  the  desert  sands  and  prai 
ries  of  the  upper  Columbia.  It  seemed  as  if  they 
were  entering  a  land  of  perpetual  spring.  They 
passed  through  groves  of  spreading  oaks ;  they  skirted 
lowlands  purple  with  blooming  camas ;  they  crossed 


THE   GREAT  CAMP  ON  THE  ISLAND.     127 

prairies  where  the  grass  waved  rank  and  high,  and 
sunny  banks  where  the  strawberries  were  ripening  in 
scarlet  masses.  And  ever  and  anon  they  caught  sight 
of  a  far  snow  peak  lifted  above  the  endless  reach 
of  forest,  and  through  openings  in  the  trees  caught 
glimpses  of  the  Columbia  spreading  wide  and  beauti 
ful  between  densely  wooded  shores  whose  bending 
foliage  was  literally  washed  by  the  waters. 

At  length,  as  the  sun  was  setting,  they  emerged 
from  the  wood  upon  a  wide  and  level  beach.  Before 
them  swept  the  Columbia,  broader  and  grander  than  at 
any  previous  view,  steadily  widening  as  it  neared  the 
sea.  Opposite  them,  another  river,  not  as  large  as 
the  Columbia,  but  still  a  great  river,  flowed  into  it. 

"  Willamette,"  said  the  young  runner,  pointing  to 
this  new  river.  "  Wappatto  Island,"  he  added,  indi 
cating  a  magnificent  prospect  of  wood  and  meadow 
that  lay  just  below  the  mouth  of  the  Willamette  down 
along  the  Columbia.  Cecil  could  not  see  the  channel 
that  separated  it  from  the  mainland  on  the  other  side, 
and  to  him  it  seemed,  not  an  island,  but  a  part  of  the 
opposite  shore. 

Around  them  on  the  beach  were  groups  of  Indians, 
representatives  of  various  petty  tribes  who  had  not 
yet  passed  to  the  island  of  council.  Horses  were 
tethered  to  the  driftwood  strewed  along  the  beach ; 
packs  and  saddles  were  heaped  on  the  banks  awaiting 
the  canoes  that  were  to  carry  them  over.  Across  the 
river,  Cecil  could  see  upon  the  island  scattered  bands 
of  ponies  feeding  and  many  Indians  passing  to  and 
fro.  Innumerable  lodges  showed  among  the  trees. 
The  river  was  dotted  with  canoes.  Never  before  had 
he  beheld  so  large  an  encampment,  not  even  among 


128  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

the  Six  Nations  or  the  Sioux.  It  seemed  as  if  all 
the  tribes  of  Puget  Sound  and  the  Columbia  were 
there. 

As  they  halted  on  the  bank,  a  little  canoe  came 
skimming  over  the  water  like  a  bird.  It  bore  a  mes 
senger  from  Multnomah,  who  had  seen  the  Cayuses  as 
soon  as  they  emerged  on  the  beach. 

"  Send  your  packs  over  in  canoes,  swim  your 
horses,  camp  on  the  island,"  was  the  laconic  message. 
Evidently,  in  view  of  the  coming  struggle,  Multnomah 
wanted  the  loyal  Cayuses  close  at  hand. 

In  a  little  while  the  horses  were  stripped  of  their 
packs,  which  were  heaped  in  the  canoes  that  had  fol 
lowed  the  messenger,  and  the  crossing  began.  A  hair 
rope  was  put  around  the  neck  of  a  horse,  and  the  end 
given  to  a  man  in  a  canoe.  The  canoe  was  then  pad 
dled  out  into  the  stream,  and  the  horse  partly  pulled, 
partly  pushed  into  the  river.  The  others  after  much 
beating  followed  their  leader ;  and  in  a  little  while  a 
long  line  of  half  submerged  horses  and  riders  was 
struggling  across  the  river,  while  the  loaded  canoes 
brought  up  the  rear.  The  rapid  current  swept  them 
downward,  and  they  landed  on  the  opposite  bank  at 
a  point  far  below  that  from  which  they  started. 

On  the  bank  of  the  Columbia,  near  Morgan's  Lake, 
an  old  gnarled  cottonwood  still  marks  the  ancient 
landing-place  ;  and  traces  remain  of  the  historic  trail 
which  led  up  from  the  river-bank  into  the  interior  of 
the  island,  —  a  trail  traversed  perhaps  for  centuries,  — 
the  great  Indian  road  from  the  upper  Columbia  to  the 
Willamette  valley. 

The  bank  was  black  with  people  crowding  out  to 
see  the  latest  arrivals.  It  was  a  thronging  multitude 


THE   GREAT  CAMP  ON  THE  ISLAND.     129 

of  dusky  faces  and  diverse  costumes.  The  Nootka 
with  his  tattooed  face  was  there,  clad  in  his  woollen 
blanket,  his  gigantic  form  pushing  aside  the  short 
Chinook  of  the  lower  Columbia,  with  his  crooked  legs, 
his  half-naked  body  glistening  with  grease,  his  slit  nose 
and  ears  loaded  with  hiagua  shells.  Choppunish 
women,  clad  in  garments  of  buckskin  carefully  whit 
ened  with  clay,  looked  with  scorn  on  the  women  of 
the  Cowlitz  and  Clatsop  tribes,  whose  only  dress  was 
a  fringe  of  cedar  bark  hanging  from  the  waist.  The 
abject  Siawash  of  Puget  Sound,  attired  in  a  scanty 
patch-work  of  rabbit  and  woodrat  skin,  stood  beside 
the  lordly  Yakima,  who  wore  deerskin  robe  and  leg- 
gins.  And  among  them  all,  conscious  of  his  supremacy, 
moved  the  keen  and  imperious  Willamette. 

They  all  gazed  wonderingly  at  Cecil,  "the  white 
man,"  the  "  long  beard,"  the  "  man  that  came  from 
the  Great  Spirit,"  the  "shaman  of  strong  magic,"  — 
for  rumors  of  Cecil  and  his  mission  had  spread  from 
tribe  to  tribe. 

Though  accustomed  to  savage  sights,  this  seemed 
to  Cecil  the  most  savage  of  all.  Flat  heads  and  round 
heads  ;  faces  scarred,  tattooed,  and  painted  ;  faces  as 
wild  as  beasts' ;  faces  proud  and  haughty,  degraded 
and  debased;  hair  cut  close  to  the  head,  tangled, 
matted,  clogged  with  filth,  carefully  smoothed  and 
braided,  —  every  phase  of  barbarism  in  its  most  blood 
thirsty  ferocity,  its  most  abject  squalor,  met  his  glance 
as  he  looked  around  him.  It  seemed  like  some  wild 
phantasmagoria,  some  weird  and  wondrous  dream ; 
and  the  discord  of  tongues,  the  confusion  of  dialects, 
completed  the  bewildering  scene. 

Through    the    surging    crowd    they    found    their 
9 


130  THE  BRIDGE  OF   THE   GODS. 

way   to   the   place   where    their   lodges  were    to   be 
pitched. 

On  the  morrow  the  great  council  was  to  begin,  — 
the  council  that  to  the  passions  of  that  mob  of  savages 
might  be  as  the  torch  to  dry  brushwood.  On  the 
morrow  Multnomah  would  try  and  would  condemn  to 
death  a  rebel  chief  in  the  presence  of  the  very  ones 
who  were  in  secret  league  with  him  j  and  the  setting 
sun  would  see  the  Willamette  power  supreme  and 
undisputed,  or  the  confederacy  would  be  broken 
forever  in  the  death-grapple  of  the  tribes. 


AN  INDIAN  TRIAL.  131 


CHAPTER   IV. 

AN    INDIAN   TRIAL. 

Like  flame  within  the  naked  hand 
His  body  bore  his  burning  heart. 

DANTE  ROSSETTI. 

"\  X  7APPATTO  Island  had  seen  many  gatherings  of 
*  *  the  tribes,  but  never  before  had  it  seen  so 
large  an  assembly  as  on  the  opening  day  of  the  coun 
cil.  The  great  cottonwoods  of  the  council-grove 
waved  over  an  audience  of  sachems  and  warriors 
the  like  of  which  the  oldest  living  Indian  could  not 
remember. 

No  weapons  were  to  be  seen,  for  Multnomah  had 
commanded  that  all  arms  be  left  that  day  in  the 
lodges.  But  the  dissatisfied  Indians  had  come  with 
weapons  hidden  under  their  robes  of  deer  or  wolf 
skin,  which  no  one  should  have  known  better  than 
Multnomah.  Had  he  taken  any  precautions  against 
surprise?  Evidently  not.  A  large  body  of  Willam 
ette  warriors,  muffled  in  their  blankets,  lounged  care 
lessly  around  the  grove,  with  not  a  weapon  visible 
among  them ;  behind  them  thronged  the  vast  and 
motley  assemblage  of  doubtful  allies ;  and  back  of 
them,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  were  the  faithful 
Cayuses,  unarmed  like  the  Willamettes.  Had  Mult- 
nomah's  wonderful  astuteness  failed  him  now  when  it 
was  never  needed  more  ? 


132  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

He  was  on  the  council-seat,  a  stone  covered  with 
furs ;  the  Willamette  sachems  sat  in  their  places  facing 
him ;  and  mats  were  spread  for  the  chiefs  of  the 
tributaries.  On  a  bearskin  before  the  stern  war- 
chief  lay  a  peace-pipe  and  a  tomahawk ;  and  to  the 
Indians,  accustomed  to  signs  and  symbols,  the  two 
had  a  grim  significance. 

One  by  one  the  chiefs  entered  the  circle  and  took 
their  seats  on  the  mats  provided  for  them.  Those 
who  were  friendly  to  Multnomah  first  laid  presents 
before  him ;  those  who  were  not,  took  their  places 
without  offering  him  either  gift  or  salutation.  '  Mult 
nomah,  however,  seemed  unconscious  of  any  neglect. 

The  chief  of  a  Klamath  tribe  offered  him  a  bril 
liantly  dyed  blanket ;  another,  a  finely  fringed  quiver, 
full  of  arrows ;  another,  a  long  and  massive  string  of 
kiagua  shells.  Each  laid  his  gift  before  Multnomah 
and  took  his  seat  in  silence. 

The  chief  of  the  Chopponish  presented  him  with  a 
fine  horse,  the  best  belonging  to  his  tribe.  Multno 
mah  accepted  it,  and  a  slave  led  it  away.  Then  came 
Snoqualmie,  bringing  with  him  Cecil  Grey.  The 
chiefs  hour  of  vengeance  was  at  hand. 

"  Behold  the  white  man  from  the  land  where  the 
sun  rises,  the  white  shaman  of  whom  all  the  tribes 
have  heard.  He  is  thine.  Let  him  be  the  white 
slave  of  Multnomah.  All  the  chiefs  have  slaves,  but 
who  will  have  a  white  slave  like  Multnomah?  " 

Cecil  saw  the  abyss  of  slavery  yawning  before  him, 
and  grew  pale  to  the  lips.  His  heart  sank  within 
him ;  then  the  resolute  purpose  that  never  failed  him 
in  time  of  peril  returned ;  he  lifted  his  head  and 
met  Multnomah's  gaze  with  dignity.  The  war-chief 


AN  INDIAN  TRIAL.  133 

bent  on  him  the  glance  which  read  men  to  the 
heart. 

"The  white  stranger  has  been  a  chief  among  his 
own  people,"  he  said  to  Cecil,  more  in  the  manner  of 
one  asserting  a  fact  than  asking  a  question. 

"  I  have  often  spoken  to  my  people  in  the  gather 
ings  to  hear  the  word  of  the  Great  Spirit." 

Again  the  keen,  inscrutable  gaze  of  the  great  chief 
seemed  to  probe  his  being  to  its  core ;  again  the 
calm,  grave  stranger  met  it  without  shrinking.  The 
instinct,  so  common  among  savage  races,  of  in  some 
way  knowing  what  a  man  is,  of  intuitively  grasping  his 
true  merit,  was  possessed  by  Multnomah  in  a  large 
degree ;  and  the  royalty  in  his  nature  instinctively 
recognized  the  royalty  in  Cecil's. 

"  The  white  guest  who  comes  into  the  land  of 
Multnomah  shall  be  to  him  as  a  guest ;  the  chief 
should  still  be  chief  in  any  land.  White  stranger, 
Multnomah  gives  you  welcome ;  sit  down  among  the 
chiefs." 

Cecil  took  his  place  among  them  with  all  the  com 
posure  he  could  command,  well  knowing  that  he  who 
would  be  influential  among  the  Indians  must  seem  to 
be  unmoved  by  any  change  of  fortune.  He  felt,  how 
ever,  not  only  the  joy  of  personal  deliverance,  but 
mingled  with  it  came  the  glad,  triumphant  thought 
that  he  had  now  a  voice  in  the  deliberations  of  the 
chiefs ;  it  was  a  grand  door  opened  for  Indian  evan 
gelization.  As  for  Snoqualmie,  his  face  was  as  im 
passive  as  granite.  One  would  have  said  that  Cecil's 
victory  was  to  him  a  matter  of  no  moment  at  all.  But 
under  the  guise  of  indifference  his  anger  burned  fierce 
and  deadly,  — not  against  Multnomah  but  against  Cecil. 


134  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

The  last  chief  had  taken  his  place  in  the  council. 
There  was  a  long,  ceremonious  pause.  Then  Mult- 
nomah  arose.  He  looked  over  the  council,  upon  the 
stern  faces  of  the  Willamettes  and  the  loyal  tributaries, 
upon  the  sullen  faces  of  the  malcontents,  upon  the 
fierce  and  lowering  multitude  beyond.  Over  the 
throng  he  looked,  and  felt  as  one  feels  who  stands 
on  the  brink  of  a  volcano  ;  yet  his  strong  voice  never 
rang  stronger,  the  grand  old  chief  never  looked  more 
a  chief  than  then. 

"  He  is  every  inch  a  king,"  thought  Cecil.  The 
chief  spoke  in  the  common  Willamette  language,  at 
that  time  the  medium  of  intercourse  between  the 
tribes  as  the  Chinook  is  now.  The  royal  tongue  was 
not  used  in  a  mixed  council. 

"Warriors  and  chiefs,  Multnomah  gives  you  wel 
come.  He  spreads  the  buffalo-robe."  He  made  the 
Indian  gesture  of  welcome,  opening  his  hands  to  them 
with  a  backward  and  downward  gesture,  as  of  one 
spreading  a  robe.  "  To  the  warriors  Multnomah  says, 
'  The  grass  upon  my  prairies  is  green  for  your  horses ; 
behold  the  wood,  the  water,  the  game;  they  are 
yours.'  To  the  chiefs  he  says,  '  The  mat  is  spread  for 
you  in  my  own  lodge  and  the  meat  is  cooked.'  The 
hearts  of  the  Willamettes  change  not  as  the  winters 
go  by,  and  your  welcome  is  the  same  as  of  old.  Word 
came  to  us  that  the  tribes  were  angry  and  had  spoken 
bitter  things  against  the  Willamettes ;  yes,  that  they 
longed  for  the  confederacy  to  be  broken  and  the 
old  days  to  come  again  when  tribe  was  divided  against 
tribe  and  the  Shoshones  and  Spokanes  trampled  upon 
you  all.  But  Multnomah  trusted  his  allies ;  for  had 
they  not  smoked  the  peace-pipe  with  him  and  gone 


AN  INDIAN  TRIAL.  135 

with  him  on  the  war- trail  ?  So  he  stopped  his  ears  and 
would  not  listen,  but  let  those  rumors  go  past  him  like 
thistle-down  upon  the  wind. 

"  Warriors,  Multnomah  has  shown  his  heart.  What 
say  you?  Shall  the  peace-pipe  be  lighted  and  the 
talk  begin?  " 

He  resumed  his  seat.  All  eyes  turned  to  where 
the  peace-pipe  and  the  tomahawk  lay  side  by  side 
before  the  council.  Multnomah  seemed  waiting  for 
them  to  choose  between  the  two. 

Then  Snoqualmie,  the  bravest  and  most  loyal  of  the 
tributaries,  spoke. 

"  Let  the  peace-pipe  be  lighted  ;  we  come  not  for 
strife,  but  to  be  knit  together." 

The  angry  malcontents  in  the  council  only  frowned 
and  drew  their  blankets  closer  around  them.  Toho- 
mish  the  seer,  as  the  oldest  chief  and  most  renowned 
medicine-man  present,  came  forward  and  lighted  the 
pipe,  —  a  long,  thin  piece  of  carving  in  black  stone, 
the  workmanship  of  the  Nootkas  or  Hydahs,  who 
made  the  more  elaborate  pipes  used  by  the  Indians 
of  the  Columbia  River. 

Muttering  some  mystical  incantation,  he  waved  it 
to  the  east  and  the  west,  to  the  north  and  the 
south ;  and  when  the  charm  was  complete,  gave  it 
to  Multnomah,  who  smoked  it  and  passed  it  to  Sno 
qualmie.  From  chief  to  chief  it  circled  around  the 
whole  council,  but  among  them  were  those  who  sat 
with  eyes  fixed  moodily  on  the  ground  and  would 
not  so  much  as  touch  or  look  at  it.  As  the  pipe 
passed  round  there  was  a  subdued  murmur  and  move 
ment  in  the  multitude,  a  low  threatening  clamor,  as 
yet  held  in  check  by  awe  of  Multnomah  and  dread 


136  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

of  the  Willamette  warriors.  But  the  war-chief  seemed 
unconscious  that  any  had  refused  the  pipe.  He  now 
arose  and  said,  — 

"  The  pipe  is  smoked.  Are  not  our  hearts  as  one  ? 
Is  there  not  perfect  trust  between  us?  Now  let  us 
talk.  First  of  all,  Multnomah  desires  wise  words  from 
his  brethren.  Last  winter  one  of  the  tribes  rose  up 
against  Multnomah,  saying  that  he  should  no  longer  be 
elder  brother  and  war-chief  of  the  tribes.  But  the 
rebels  were  beaten  and  all  of  them  slain  save  the 
chief,  who  was  jeserved  to  be  tried  before  you.  You 
in  your  wisdom  shall  decide  what  shall  be  done  with 
the  .warrior  who  has  rebelled  against  his  chief  and 
stained  his  hands  with  the  blood  of  his  brethren." 

Two  Willamette  braves  then  entered  the  circle, 
bringing  with  them  one  whose  hands  were  tied  be 
hind  him,  whose  form  was  emaciated  with  hunger  and 
disease,  but  whose  carriage  was  erect  and  haughty. 
Behind  came  a  squaw,  following  him  into  the  very 
presence  of  Multnomah,  as  if  resolved  to  share  his 
fortunes  to  the  last.  It  was  his  wife.  She  was  in 
stantly  thrust  back  and  driven  with  brutal  blows  from 
the  council.  But  she  lingered  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
crowd,  watching  and  waiting  with  mute,  sullen  fidelity 
the  outcome  of  the  trial.  No  one  looked  at  her,  no 
one  cared  for  her;  even  her  husband's  sympathizers 
jostled  the  poor  shrinking  form  aside,  —  for  she  was 
only  a  squaw,  while  he  was  a  great  brave. 

He  looked  a  great  brave,  standing  there  before 
Multnomah  and  the  chiefs  with  a  dignity  in  his  mien 
that  no  reverse  could  crush,  no  torture  could  destroy. 
Haggard,  starved,  bound,  his  eyes  gleamed  deathless 
and  unconquerable  hate  on  council  and  war- chief  alike. 


AN  INDIAN  TRIAL.  137 

There  were  dark  and  menacing  looks  among  the  mal 
contents  ;  in  the  captive  they  saw  personified  their 
own  loss  of  freedom  and  the  hated  domination  of 
the  Willamettes. 

"  Speak  !  You  that  were  a  chief,  you  whose  people 
sleep  in  the  dust,  —  what  have  you  to  say  in  your 
defence  ?  The  tribes  are  met  together,  and  the  chiefs 
sit  here  to  listen  and  to  judge." 

The  rebel  sachem  drew  himself  up  proudly  and 
fixed  his  flashing  eyes  on  Multnomah. 

"  The  tongue  of  Multnomah  is  a  trap.  I  am  brought 
not  to  be  tried  but  to  be  condemned  and  slain,  that 
the  tribes  may  see  it  and  be  afraid.  No  one  knows 
this  better  that  Multnomah.  Yet  I  will  speak  while 
I  still  live,  and  stand  here  in  the  sun;  for  I  go  out 
into  the  darkness,  and  the  earth  will  cover  my  face, 
and  my  voice  shall  be  heard  no  more  among  men. 

"  Why  should  the  Willamettes  rule  the  other  tribes  ? 
Are  they  better  than  we  ?  The  Great  Spirit  gave  us 
freedom,  and  who  may  make  himself  master  and  take 
it  away? 

"  I  was  chief  of  a  tribe ;  we  dwelt  in  the  land  the 
Great  Spirit  gave  our  fathers ;  their  bones  were  in  it ; 
it  was  ours.  But  the  Willamettes  said  to  us,  '  We 
are  your  elder  brethren,  you  must  help  us.  Come, 
go  with  us  to  fight  the  Shoshones.'  Our  young  men 
went,  for  the  Willamettes  were  strong  and  we  could 
not  refuse  them.  Many  were  slain,  and  the  women 
wailed  despairingly.  The  Willamettes  hunted  on  our 
hunting-grounds  and  dug  the  camas  on  our  prairies,  so 
that  there  was  not  enough  for  us ;  and  when  winter 
came,  our  children  cried  for  food.  Then  the  run 
ners  of  the  W7illamettes  came  to  us  through  the  snow, 


138      THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

saying,  '  Come  and  join  the  war-party  that  goes  to 
fight  the  Bannocks.' 

"  But  our  hearts  burned  within  us  and  we  replied, 
'  Our  hunting-grounds  and  our  food  you  have 
taken  j  will  you  have  our  lives  also  ?  Go  back  and 
tell  your  chief  that  if  we  must  fight,  we  will  fight  him 
and  not  the  Bannocks.'  Then  the  Willamettes  came 
upon  us  and  we  fought  them,  for  their  tyranny  was  so 
heavy  that  we  could  not  breathe  under  it  and  death 
had  become  better  than  life.  But  they  were  the 
stronger,  and  when  did  the  heart  of  a  Willamette  feel 
pity?  To-day  I  only  am  left,  to  say  these  words  for 
my  race. 

"  Who  made  the  Willamettes  masters  over  us  ?  The 
Great  Spirit  gave  us  freedom,  and  none  may  take  it 
away.  Was  it  not  well  to  fight  ?  Yes  ;  free  my  hands 
and  give  me  back  my  people  from  the  cairns  and  the 
death-huts,  and  we  will  fight  again  !  I  go  to  my  death, 
but  the  words  I  have  spoken  will  live.  The  hearts  of 
those  listening  here  will  treasure  them  up ;  they  will 
be  told  around  the  lodge-fires  and  repeated  in  the 
war-dance.  The  words  I  speak  will  go  out  among 
the  tribes,  and  no  man  can  destroy  them.  Yes,  they 
go  out  words,  but  they  will  come  back  arrows  and 
war  in  the  day  of  vengeance  when  the  tribes  shall  rise 
against  the  oppressor. 

"  I  have  spoken,  my  words  are  done." 

He  stood  erect  and  motionless.  The  wrath  and  dis 
dain  passed  from  his  features,  and  stoicism  settled 
over  them  like  a  mask  of  stone.  Multnomah's  cold 
regard  had  not  faltered  a  moment  under  the  chiefs 
invective.  No  denunciation  could  shake  that  iron 
self-control. 


AN  INDIAN  TRIAL.  139 

The  rebellious  chiefs  interchanged  meaning  glances  ; 
the  throng  of  malcontents  outside  the  grove  pressed 
closer  upon  the  ring  of  Willamette  warriors,  who  were 
still  standing  or  squatting  idly  around  it.  More 
than  one  weapon  could  be  seen  among  them  in  defi 
ance  of  the  war-chiefs  prohibition ;  and  the  presage 
of  a  terrible  storm  darkened  on  those  grim,  wild 
faces.  The  more  peaceably  disposed  bands  began  to 
draw  themselves  apart.  An  ominous  silence  crept 
through  the  crowd  as  they  felt  the  crisis  approaching. 

But  Multnomah  saw  nothing,  and  the  circle  of  Wil 
lamette  warriors  were  stolidly  indifferent. 

"  Can  they  not  see  that  the  tribes  are  on  the  verge 
of  revolt?"  thought  Cecil,  anxiously,  fearing  a  bloody 
massacre. 

"  You  have  heard  the  words  of  the  rebel.  What 
have  you  to  say?  Let  the  white  man  speak  first,  as 
he  was  the  last  to  join  us." 

Cecil  rose  and  pictured  in  the  common  Willamette 
tongue,  with  which  he  had  familiarized  himself  during 
his  long  stay  with  the  Cayuses,  the  terrible  results  of 
disunion,  the  desolating  consequences  of  war,  —  tribe 
clashing  against  tribe  and  their  common  enemies 
trampling  on  them  all.  Even  those  who  were  on  the 
verge  of  insurrection  listened  reverently  to  the  "  white 
wizard,"  who  had  drawn  wisdom  from  the  Great  Spirit ; 
but  it  did  not  shake  their  purpose.  Their  own  dream 
ers  had  talked  with  the  Great  Spirit  too,  in  trance 
and  vision,  and  had  promised  them  victory  over 
the  Willamettes. 

Tohomish  followed;  and  Cecil,  who  had  known 
some  of  the  finest  orators  in  Europe,  listened  in 
amazement  to  a  voice  the  most  musical  he  had  ever 


140  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

heard.  He  looked  in  wonder  on  the  repulsive  fea 
tures  that  seemed  so  much  at  variance  with  those 
melodious  intonations.  Tohomish  pleaded  for  union 
and  for  the  death  of  the  rebel.  It  seemed  for  a  moment 
as  if  his  soft,  persuasive  accents  would  win  the  day, 
but  it  was  only  for  a  moment ;  the  spell  was  broken 
the  instant  he  ceased.  Then  Snoqualmie  spoke.  One 
by  one,  the  great  sachems  of  the  Willamettes  gave 
their  voices  for  death.  Many  of  the  friendly  allies 
did  not  give  their  decision  at  all,  but  said  to 
Multnomah,  — 

"  You  speak  for  us ;   your  word  shall  be  our  word." 
When  the  dissatisfied  chiefs  were  asked  for  their 
counsel,  the  sullen  reply  was  given,  — 

"  I  have  no  tongue  to-day;  "  or  "  I  do  not  know." 
Multnomah  seemed  not  to  notice  their  answers. 
Only  those  who  knew  him  best  saw  a  gleam  kindling 
in  his  eyes  that  told  of  a  terrible  vengeance  drawing 
near.  The  captive  waited  passively,  seeming  neither 
to  see  nor  hear. 

At  length  all  had  spoken  or  had  an  opportunity  to 
speak,  and  Multnomah  rose  to  give  the  final  decision. 
Beyond  the  circle  of  Willamettes,  who  were  still  indif 
ferent  and  unconcerned,  the  discontented  bands  had 
thrown  aside  all  concealment,  and  stood  with  bared 
weapons  in  their  hands ;  all  murmurs  had  ceased ; 
there  was  a  deathlike  silence  in  the  dense  mob,  which 
seemed  gathering  itself  together  for  a  forward  rush,  — 
the  commencement  of  a  fearful  massacre. 

Behind  it  were  the  friendly  Cayuses,  but  not  a 
weapon  could  be  seen  among  them.  The  chief  saw 
all;  saw  too  that  his  enemies  only  waited  for  him 
to  pronounce  sentence  upon  the  captive,  —  that  that 


AN  INDIAN  TRIAL.  141 

was  the  preconcerted  signal  for  attack.  Now  among 
some  of  the  tribes  sentence  was  pronounced  not  by 
word  but  by  gesture;  there  was  the  gesture  for 
acquittal,  the  gesture  for  condemnation. 

Multnomah  lifted  his  right  hand.  There  was 
breathless  suspense.  What  would  it  be  ?  Fixing  his 
eyes  on  the  armed  malcontents  who  were  waiting  to 
spring,  he  clinched  his  hand  and  made  a  downward 
gesture,  as  if  striking  a  blow.  It  was  the  death- signal, 
the  death-sentence. 

In  an  instant  a  deafening  shout  rang  through  the 
grove,  and  the  bloodthirsty  mob  surged  forward  to  the 
massacre. 

Then,  so  suddenly  that  it  blended  with  and  seemed 
a  part  of  the  same  shout,  the  dreaded  Willamette  war- 
cry  shook  the  earth.  Quick  as  thought,  the  Willam- 
ettes  who  had  been  lounging  so  idly  around  the 
grove  were  on  their  feet,  their  blankets  thrown  aside, 
the  weapons  that  had  been  concealed  under  them 
ready  in  their  hands.  A  wall  of  indomitable  warriors 
had  leaped  up  around  the  grove.  At  the  same  mo 
ment,  the  Cayuses  in  the  rear  bared  their  weapons 
and  shouted  back  the  Willamette  war-cry. 

The  rebels  were  staggered.  The  trap  was  sprung 
on  them  before  they  knew  that  there  was  a  trap. 
Those  in  front  shrank  back  from  the  iron  warriors 
of  Multnomah,  those  in  the  rear  wavered  before  the 
fierce  Cayuses.  They  paused,  a  swaying  flood  of 
humanity,  caught  between  two  lines  of  rock. 


THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE   GODS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SENTENCED   TO   THE   WOLF-DEATH. 

The  other,  great  of  soul,  changed  not 
Countenance  stern. 

DANTE. 

T  N  that  momentary  pause  Multnomah  did  something 
•*•  that  showed  the  cold  disdainfulness  of  his  char 
acter  as  nothing  else  could  have  done.  He  had  given 
the  death-sign  ;  he  had  not  yet  told  how  or  when  death 
was  to  be  inflicted.  He  gave  the  sentence  now,  as  if 
in  utter  scorn  of  the  battle-cloud  that  hung  quivering, 
ready  to  burst. 

"  He  would  have  torn  the  confederacy  to  pieces ; 
let  him  be  left  bound  in  the  wood  of  the  wolves,  and 
torn  limb  from  limb  by  them  as  he  would  have  rent 
the  tribes  asunder." 

The  two  warriors  who  had  brought  the  criminal 
into  the  council  came  forward,  flung  a  covering  over 
his  head  and  face,  and  led  him  away.  Perhaps  no 
custom  of  the  northwestern  Indians  was  more  sombre 
than  this,  —  the  covering  of  the  culprit's  eyes  from 
the  time  of  his  sentence  till  his  death.  Never  again 
were  those  eyes  to  behold  the  sun. 

Then,  and  not  till  then,  did  Multnomah  turn  his 
gaze  on  the  malcontents,  who  stood,  desperate  but 
hesitating,  hemmed  in  by  the  Willamettes  and  the 
Cayuses. 


SENTENCED   TO    THE    WOLF-DEATH.       143 

"  You  have  chosen  the  tomahawk  instead  of  the 
peace-pipe.  Shall  Multnomah  choose  the  tomahawk 
also  ?  Know  you  not  that  Multnomah  holds  your  lives 
in  his  hand,  and  that  he  can  crush  you  like  an  egg 
shell  if  he  chooses?  " 

The  war-chief  lifted  his  arm  as  he  spoke,  and  slowly 
closed  his  ringers  till  his  hand  was  clinched.  The 
eyes  of  Willamette  and  tributary  alike  hung  on  those 
slowly  closing  fingers,  with  their  own  strained  on  their 
tomahawks.  That  was  half  the  death-signal !  Would 
he  give  the  other  half,  —  the  downward  gesture  ?  The 
baffled  rebels  tasted  all  the  bitterness  of  death  in  that 
agonizing  suspense.  They  felt  that  their  lives  were 
literally  in  his  grasp  ;  and  so  the  stern  autocrat  wished 
them  to  feel,  for  he  knew  it  was  a  lesson  they  would 
never  forget. 

At  length  he  spoke. 

"Drop  your  weapons  and  Multnomah  will  forget 
what  he  has  seen,  and  all  will  be  well.  Strike  but  a 
blow,  and  not  one  of  you  will  ever  go  back  over  the 
trail  to  his  home." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  chiefs,  and  there  was  that  in 
his  tones  which  told  them  to  expect  no  mercy. 

"  How  comes  it  that  your  braves  lift  their  toma 
hawks  against  Multnomah  in  his  own  council  and  on 
his  own  land  ?  Speak  !  chiefs  must  answer  for  their 
people." 

There  was  sullen  silence  for  a  little  time ;  then  one 
of  them  muttered  that  it  was  the  young  men ;  their 
blood  was  hot,  they  were  rash,  and  the  chiefs  could 
not  control  them. 

"Can  you  not  control  your  young  men?  Then 
you  are  not  fit  to  be  chiefs,  and  are  chiefs  no  longer." 


144  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

He  gave  a  signal  to  certain  of  the  Willamettes  who 
had  come  up  behind  the  rebellious  leaders,  as  they 
stood  confused  and  hesitating  in  the  council.  They 
were  seized  and  their  hands  bound  ere  they  could 
defend  themselves ;  indeed,  they  made  no  effort  to 
do  so,  but  submitted  doggedly. 

"  Take  them  down  the  Wauna  in  the  sea-canoes 
and  sell  them  as  slaves  to  the  Nootkas  who  hunt  seal 
along  the  coast.  Their  people  shall  see  their  faces 
no  more.  Slaves  in  the  ice-land  of  the  North  shall 
they  live  and  die." 

The  swarthy  cheeks  of  the  captives  grew  ashen,  and 
a  shudder  went  through  that  trapped  and  surrounded 
mob  of  malcontents.  Indian  slavery  was  always  terri 
ble  j  but  to  be  slaves  to  the  brutal  Indians  of  the  north, 
starved,  beaten,  mutilated,  chilled,  and  benumbed  in 
a  land  of  perpetual  frost ;  to  perish  at  last  in  the 
bleak  snow  and  winter  of  almost  arctic  coasts,  — 
that  was  a  fate  worse  than  the  torture-stake. 

Dreadful  as  it  was,  not  a  chief  asked  for  mercy. 
Silently  they  went  with  their  captors  out  of  the  grove 
and  down  the  bank  to  the  river's  edge.  A  large  sea- 
canoe,  manned  by  Chinook  paddlers,  was  floating  at 
the  beach.  They  quickly  embarked,  the  paddles 
dipped,  the  canoe  glided  out  into  the  current  and 
down  the  stream.  In  a  few  moments  the  cotton- 
wood  along  the  river's  edge  hid  it  from  sight,  and 
the  rebels  were  forever  beyond  the  hope  of  rescue. 

Swift  and  merciless  had  the  vengeance  of  Multno- 
mah  fallen,  and  the  insurrection  had  been  crushed  at 
a  blow.  It  had  taken  but  a  moment,  and  it  had  all 
passed  under  the  eyes  of  the  malcontents,  who  were 
still  surrounded  by  the  loyal  warriors. 


SENTENCED   TO    THE    WOLF-DEATH.      145 

When  the  canoe  had  disappeared  and  the  gaze  of 
that  startled  and  awed  multitude  came  back  to  Mult 
nomah,  he  made  a  gesture  of  dismissal.  The  lines  drew 
aside  and  the  rebels  were  free. 

While  they  were  still  bewildered  and  uncertain  what 
to  do,  Multnomah  instantly  and  with  consummate 
address  called  the  attention  of  the  council  to  other 
things,  thereby  apparently  assuming  that  the  trouble 
was  ended  and  giving  the  malcontents  to  understand 
that  no  further  punishment  was  intended.  Sullenly, 
reluctantly,  they  seemed  to  accept  the  situation, 
and  no  further  indications  of  revolt  were  seen  that 
day. 

Popular  young  men,  the  bravest  of  their  several 
tribes,  were  appointed  by  Multnomah  to  fill  the  va 
cant  chieftainships ;  and  that  did  much  toward  allay 
ing  the  discontent.  Moreover,  some  troubles  between 
different  tribes  of  the  confederacy,  which  had  been 
referred  to  him  for  arbitration,  were  decided  with  rare 
sagacity.  At  length  the  council  ended  for  the  day, 
the  star  of  the  Willamettes  still  in  the  ascendant,  the 
revolt  seemingly  subdued. 

So  the  first  great  crisis  passed. 

That  evening  a  little  band  of  Willamette  warriors 

led  the  rebel   sachem,  still  bound  and  blindfolded, 

down  to  the  river's  bank,  where  a  canoe  lay  waiting 

them.     His  wife  followed  and  tried  to  enter  it  with 

him,  as  if  determined  to  share  his  fortunes  to  the  very 

last;    but  the   guard   thrust   her   rudely   away,    and 

started  the  canoe.      As  it  moved  away  she  caught 

the  prow  wildly,  despairingly,  as  if  she  could  not  let 

'  her  warrior  go.     One  of  the  guards  struck  her  hands 

10 


146  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

brutally  with  his  paddle,  and  she  released  her  hold. 
The  boat  glided  out  into  the  river.  Not  a  word  of 
farewell  had  passed  between  the  condemned  man  and 
his  wife,  for  each  disdained  to  show  emotion  in  the 
presence  of  the  enemy.  She  remained  on  the  bank 
looking  after  him,  mute  and  despondent,  —  a  forlorn 
creature  clothed  in  rags  and  emaciated  with  hunger, 
an  outcast  from  all  the  tribes.  She  might  have  been 
regarded  as  a  symbolic  figure  representing  woman 
among  the  Indians,  as  she  stood  there  with  her  bruised 
hands,  throbbing  with  pain  where  the  cruel  blow  had 
fallen,  hanging,  in  sullen  scorn  of  pain,  uncared  for  by 
her  side.  So  she  stood  watching  the  canoe  glide  down 
the  river,  till  it  was  swallowed  up  in  the  gathering 
shadows  of  evening. 

The  canoe  dropped  down  the  river  to  a  lonely  point 
on  the  northern  shore,  a  place  much  frequented  by 
wolves.  There,  many  miles  below  the  encampment 
on  the  island,  they  disembarked  and  took  the  captive 
into  the  wood.  He  walked  among  them  with  a  firm 
and  even  tread  ;  there  was  no  sign  of  flinching,  though 
he  must  have  known  that  his  hour  was  close  at  hand. 
They  bound  him  prostrate  at  the  foot  of  an  oak, 
tying  him  to  the  hard,  tough  roots  that  ran  over  the 
ground  like  a  network,  and  from  which  the  earth  had 
been  washed  away,  so  that  thongs  could  be  passed 
around  them. 

Head  and  foot  they  bound  him,  drawing  the  raw 
hide  thongs  so  tight  that  they  sank  into  the  flesh,  and 
knotting  them,  till  no  effort  possible  to  him  could 
have  disentangled  him.  It  was  on  his  lips  to  ask 
them  to  leave  one  arm  free,  so  that  he  might  at  least 
die  fighting,  though  it  were  with  but  one  naked  hand. 


SENTENCED    TO    THE    WOLF-DEATH.       1 47 

But  he  hated  them  too  much  to  ask  even  that  small 
favor,  and  so  submitted  in  disdainful  silence. 

The  warriors  all  went  back  to  the  canoe,  except 
one,  an  old  hunter,  famed  for  his  skill  in  imitating 
every  cry  of  bird  or  beast.  Standing  beside  the  bound 
and  prostrate  man,  he  sent  forth  into  the  forest  the 
cry  of  a  wolf.  It  rang  in  a  thousand  echoes  and  died 
away,  evoking  no  response.  He  listened  a  moment 
with  bated  breath,  but  could  hear  nothing  but  the 
deep  heart-beat  of  the  man  at  his  feet.  Another  cry, 
with  its  myriad  echoes,  was  followed  by  the  oppressive 
sense  of  stillness  that  succeeds  an  outcry  in  a  lonely 
wood.  Then  came  a  faint,  a  far-off  sound,  the  answer 
of  a  wolf  to  a  supposed  mate.  The  Indian  replied, 
and  the  answer  sounded  nearer ;  then  another  blended 
with  it,  as  the  pack  began  to  gather.  Again  the  In 
dian  gave  the  cry,  wild  and  wolfish,  as  only  a  barba 
rian,  half-beast  by  virtue  of  his  own  nature,  could  have 
uttered  it.  An  awful  chorus  of  barking  and  howling 
burst  through  the  forest  as  the  wolves  came  on,  eager 
for  blood. 

The  Indian  turned  and  rejoined  his  comrades  at 
the  canoe.  They  pushed  out  into  the  river,  but  held 
the  boat  in  the  current  by  an  occasional  paddle-stroke, 
and  waited  listening.  Back  at  the  foot  of  the  tree 
the  captive  strained  every  nerve  and  muscle  in  one 
mighty  effort  to  break  the  cords  that  bound  him ;  but 
it  was  useless,  and  he  lay  back  with  set  teeth  and  rigid 
muscles,  while  his  eyes  sought  in  vain  through  their 
thick  covering  to  see  the  approach  of  his  foes.  Pres 
ently  a  fierce  outburst  of  howls  and  snarls  told  the 
listeners  that  the  wolves  had  found  their  prey.  They 
lingered  and  listened  a  little  longer,  but  no  sound  or 


148  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

cry  was  heard  to  tell  of  the  last  agony  under  those 
rending  fangs ;  the  chief  died  in  silence.  Then  the 
paddles  were  dipped  again  in  the  water,  and  the  canoe 
glided  up  the  river  to  the  camp. 

When  they  reached  the  shore  they  found  the  rebel's 
wife  awaiting  them  in  the  place  where  they  had  left 
her.  She  asked  no  questions ;  she  only  came  close 
and  looked  at  their  faces  in  the  dusk,  and  read  there 
the  thing  she  sought  to  know.  Then  she  went  silently 
away.  In  a  little  while  the  Indian  wail  for  the  dead 
was  sounding  through  the  forest. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  the  groups  around  the 
camp-fires. 

"The  rebel  chiefs  wife  wailing  the  death-wail  for 
her  husband,"  was  the  low  reply;  and  in  that  way 
the  tribes  knew  that  the  sentence  had  been  carried 
out.  Many  bands  were  there,  of  many  languages,  but 
all  knew  what  that  death-wail  meant  the  instant  it 
fell  upon  their  ears.  Multnomah  heard  it  as  he  sat 
in  council  with  his  chiefs,  and  there  was  something 
in  it  that  shook  even  his  iron  heart ;  for  all  the  wilder, 
more  superstitious  elements  of  the  Indians  thrilled  to 
two  things,  —  the  war-cry  and  the  death-wail.  He 
dismissed  his  chiefs  and  went  to  his  lodge.  On  the 
way  he  encountered  Tohomish,  lurking,  as  was  his 
wont,  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees. 

"  What  think  you  now,  Tohomish,  you  who  love 
darkness  and  shadow,  what  think  you?  Is  not  the 
arm  of  the  Willamette  strong?  Has  it  not  put  down 
revolt  to-day,  and  held  the  tribes  together?  " 

The  Pine  Voice  looked  at  him  sorrowfully. 

"  The  vision  I  told  in  the  council  has  come  back 
to  me  again.  The  cry  of  woe  I  heard  far  off  then  is 


SENTENCED    TO    THE    WOLF-DEATH.      149 

nearer  now,  and  the  throng  on  the  death-trail  passes 
thicker  and  swifter.  That  which  covered  their  faces 
is  lifted,  and  their  faces  are  the  faces  of  Willam- 
ettes,  and  Multnomah  is  among  them.  The  time  is 
close  at  hand." 

"  Say  this  before  our  enemies,  and,  strong  tomano- 
wos  though  you  are,  you  die  ! "  said  the  chief,  laying 
his  hand  on  his  tomahawk.  But  the  seer  was  gone, 
and  Multnomah  stood  alone  among  the  trees. 

Every  evening  at  dusk,  the  widow  of  the  rebel 
sachem  went  out  into  the  woods  near  the  camp  and 
wailed  her  dead.  Every  night  that  wild,  desolate 
lament  was  lifted  and  rang  through  the  great  en 
campment,  —  a  cry  that  was  accusation,  defiance,  and 
lament ;  and  even  Multnomah  dared  not  silence  her, 
for  among  the  Indians  a  woman  lamenting  her  dead 
was  sacred.  So,  while  Multnomah  labored  and  plot 
ted  for  union  by  day,  that  mournful  cry  raised  the 
spirit  of  wrath  and  rebellion  by  night.  And  thus  the 
dead  liberator  was  half  avenged. 


BOOK    IV. 

THE  LOVE    TALE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE   INDIAN   TOWN. 

The  bare  ground  with  hoarie  mosse  bestrewed 
Must  be  their  bed  ;  their  pillow  was  unsowed 
And  the  frutes  of  the  forrest  was  their  feast. 

The  Faerie  Queene. 

EVER  before  had  there  come  to  Cecil  so  grand 
an  opportunity  for  disseminating  gospel  truth. 
The  work  of  half  a  lifetime  might  be  done  in  a  few 
days. 

"The  tribes  are  all  gathered  together  in  one  en 
campment,  and  I  can  talk  with  them  all,  tell  them  of 
God,  of  the  beauty  of  heaven  and  of  the  only  Way. 
Then,  when  they  disperse,  they  will  carry  my  teaching 
in  every  direction,  and  so  it  will  be  scattered  through 
out  all  this  wild  land." 

This  was  the  thought  that  came  to  Cecil  when  he 
awoke  on  the  morning  after  the  trial.  Now  was  the 
time  to  work  !  Now  was  the  time  for  every  element 
of  argument,  persuasion,  and  enthusiasm  to  be  exerted 
to  the  utmost. 

Earnestly  did  he  pray  that  morning,  kneeling  in  his 
lodge  beside  his  couch  of  furs,  that  God  would  be  with 


152  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

and  help  him.  And  as  he  prayed,  warm  and  glow 
ing  was  the  love  and  tenderness  that  filled  his  heart. 
When  the  day  was  a  little  more  advanced,  he  entered 
upon  his  work.  The  camp  was  astir  with  life  ;  nearly 
all  had  finished  their  morning  meal,  and  the  various 
employments  and  diversions  of  the  day  were  begun. 
Each  tribe  or  band  had  pitched  its  lodges  apart, 
though  not  far  from  the  others.  It  was  not  so  much 
an  encampment  as  a  group  of  many  encampments, 
and  the  whole  made  up  a  scattered  town  of  huts  and 
wigwams. 

A  precarious  and  uncertain  quiet  had  succeeded  the 
agitation  of  the  day  before.  Multnomah's  energy  had 
awed  the  malcontents  into  temporary  submission,  and 
the  different  bands  were  mingling  freely  with  one 
another;  though  here  and  there  a  chief  or  warrior 
looked  on  contemptuously,  standing  moodily  apart, 
wrapped  in  his  blanket.  Now  and  then  when  a  Willa 
mette  passed  a  group  who  were  talking  and  gesticu 
lating  animatedly  they  would  become  silent  all  at  once 
till  the  representative  of  the  dreaded  race  was  out  of 
hearing,  when  a  storm  of  indignant  gutterals  would 
burst  forth;  but  there  were  no  other  indications  of 
hostility. 

Groups  were  strolling  from  place  to  place  observing 
curiously  the  habits  and  customs  of  other  tribes ;  the 
common  Willamette  tongue,  precursor  of  the  more 
modern  Chinook  jargon,  furnishing  a  means  of  inter 
course.  Everywhere  Cecil  found  talk,  barter,  diver 
sion.  It  was  a  rude  caricature  of  civilization,  the 
picture  of  society  in  its  infancy,  the  rough  dramati 
zation  of  that  phase  through  which  every  race  passes 
in  its  evolution  from  barbarism. 


THE  INDIAN  TOWN.  153 

At  one  place,  a  hunter  from  the  interior  was  barter 
ing  furs  for  hiagua  shells  to  a  native  of  the  sea-coast. 
At  another,  a  brave  skilled  in  wood-work  had  his  stock 
of  bows  and  arrows  spread  out  before  him,  and  an  ad 
miring  crowd  were  standing  around  looking  on.  But 
the  taciturn  brave  sat  coolly  polishing  and  staining  his 
arrows  as  if  he  were  totally  unconscious  of  spectators, 
until  the  magical  word  "  buy  "  was  mentioned,  when 
he  at  once  awoke  to  life  and  drove  a  bargain  in  bow 
and  quiver  versus  dried  berries  and  "ickters"  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  Yankee. 

At  one  place  sat  an  old  warrior  from  the  upper 
Columbia,  making  arrow-heads,  chipping  off  the  little 
scales  of  flint  with  infinite  patience,  literally  wearing 
the  stone  into  the  requisite  shape.  Beside  him  lay  a 
small  pack  of  flints  brought  from  beyond  the  moun 
tains,  for  such  stone  was  rarely  found  along  the  lower 
Columbia.  Squaws  sat  in  front  of  their  wigwams  sew 
ing  mats,  —  carefully  sorting  the  rushes,  putting  big 
ends  with  little  ends,  piercing  each  with  a  bodkin,  and 
sewing  them  all  together  with  a  long  bone  needle 
threaded  with  buckskin  or  sinew.  Others  were  weav 
ing  that  water-tight  wickerwork  which  was,  perhaps, 
the  highest  art  to  which  the  Oregon  Indians  ever 
attained.  Here  a  band  of  Indians  were  cooking, 
feasting,  laughing,  shouting  around  a  huge  sturgeon 
captured  the  night  before.  There  a  circle  of  gamblers 
were  playing  "hand,"  —  passing  a  small  stick  secretly 
from  hand  to  hand  and  guessing  whose  hand  contained 
it,  —  singing  as  they  played  that  monotonous  "  ho-ha, 
ho-ha,  ho-ha,"  which  was  the  inseparable  accompani 
ment  of  dancing,  gambling,  and  horseback  riding. 

Among  them  all  Cecil  moved  with  the  calm  dignity 


154  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE  GODS. 

he  had  acquired  from  long  intercourse  with  the  In 
dians.  Wherever  he  went  there  was  silence  and  re 
spect,  for  was  he  not  the  great  white  medicine -man? 
Gambling  circles  paused  in  the  swift  passage  of  the 
stick  and  the  monotone  of  the  chant  to  look  and  to 
comment ;  buyers  and  sellers  stopped  to  gaze  and  to 
question;  children  who  had  been  building  minia 
ture  wigwams  of  sticks  or  floating  bark  canoes  in  the 
puddles,  ran  away  at  his  approach  and  took  shelter 
in  the  thickets,  watching  him  with  twinkling  black 
eyes. 

Wherever  there  was  opportunity,  he  stopped  and 
talked,  scattering  seed-thoughts  in  the  dark  minds 
of  the  Indians.  Wherever  he  paused  a  crowd  would 
gather;  whenever  he  entered  a  wigwam  a  throng 
collected  at  the  door. 

Let  us  glance  for  a  moment  into  the  domestic  life 
of  the  Indians  as  Cecil  saw  it  that  morning. 

He  enters  one  of  the  large  bark  huts  of  the  Willa 
mette  Indians,  a  long,  low  building,  capable  of  shel 
tering  sixty  or  seventy  persons.  The  part  around  the 
door  is  painted  to  represent  a  man's  face,  and  the 
entrance  is  through  the  mouth.  Within,  he  finds  a 
spacious  room  perhaps  eighty  or  a  hundred  feet  long 
by  twenty  wide,  with  rows  of  rude  bunks  rising  tier 
above  tier  on  either  side.  In  the  centre  are  the 
stones  and  ashes  of  the  hearth ;  above  is  an  aperture 
in  the  roof  for  the  escape  of  smoke ;  around  the 
hearth  mats  are  spread  to  sit  upon ;  the  bare  ground, 
hard  and  trodden,  forms  the  only  floor,  and  the  roof 
is  made  of  boards  that  have  been  split  out  with  mallet 
and  wedges. 

Cecil  enters  and  stands  a  moment  in  silence ;  then 


THE  INDIAN  TOWN.  155 

the  head  of  the  house  advances  and  welcomes  him. 
The  best  mat  is  spread  for  him  to  sit  upon ;  food  is 
brought,  —  pounded  fish,  nuts,  and  berries,  and  a  kind 
of  bread  made  of  roots  cooked,  crushed  together,  and 
cut  in  slices  when  cold.  All  this  is  served  on  a  wooden 
platter,  and  he  must  eat  whether  hungry  or  not ;  for 
to  refuse  would  be  the  grossest  affront  that  could  be 
offered  a  Willamette  host,  especially  if  it  were  pre 
sented  by  his  own  hands.  The  highest  honor  that  a 
western  Oregon  Indian  could  do  his  guest  was  to  wait 
on  him  instead  of  letting  his  squaw  do  it.  The  Indian 
host  stands  beside  Cecil  and  says,  in  good-humored 
hospitality,  "  Eat,  eat  much,"  nor  is  he  quite  pleased 
if  he  thinks  that  his  visitor  slights  the  offered  food. 
When  the  guest  can  be  no  longer  persuaded  to  eat 
more,  the  food  is  removed,  the  platter  is  washed  in 
water,  and  dried  with  a  wisp  of  twisted  grass ;  a  small 
treasure  of  tobacco  is  produced  from  a  little  buckskin 
pocket  and  a  part  of  it  carefully  mixed  with  dried 
leaves ; l  the  pipe  is  filled  and  smoked.  Then,  and 
not  till  then,  may  the  Indian  host  listen  to  the  talk  of 
the  white  man. 

So  it  was  in  lodge  after  lodge ;  he  must  first  eat,  be 
it  ever  so  little.  Two  centuries  later,  the  Methodist 
and  Congregational  missionaries  found  themselves  con 
fronted  with  the  same  oppressive  hospitality  among 
the  Rocky  Mountain  Indians.2  Nay,  they  need  not 
visit  a  wigwam ;  let  them  but  stroll  abroad  through 
the  village,  and  if  they  were  popular  and  the  camp 
was  well  supplied  with  buffalo-meat,  messengers  would 
come  with  appalling  frequency,  bearing  the  laconic 

1  Lewis  and  Clark. 

2  See  Parkman's  "  Oregon  Trail ,  "  also,  Parker's  work  on  Oregon. 


156  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

invitation,  "  Come  and  eat ;  "  and  the  missionary 
must  go,  or  give  offence,  even  though  he  had  already 
gone  to  half  a  dozen  wigwams  on  the  same  errand. 
There  is  a  grim  humor  in  a  missionary's  eating  fresh 
buffalo-meat  in  the  cause  of  religion  until  he  is 
like  to  burst,  and  yet  heroically  going  forth  to  choke 
down  a  few  mouthfuls  more,  lest  he  offend  some 
dusky  convert. 

At  one  house  Cecil  witnessed  a  painful  yet  comical 
scene.  The  Willamettes  were  polygamists,  each  brave 
having  as  many  wives  as  he  was  able  to  buy;  and 
Cecil  was  in  a  lodge  where  the  brother  of  the  head 
man  of  that  lodge  brought  home  his  second  wife.  At 
the  entrance  of  the  second  wife,  all  gay  in  Indian 
finery,  the  first  did  not  manifest  the  sisterly  spirit 
proper  for  the  occasion.  After  sitting  awhile  in  sullen 
silence,  she  arose  and  began  to  kick  the  fire  about, 
accompanying  that  performance  with  gutteral  excla 
mations  addressed  to  no  one  in  particular ;  she  struck 
the  dog,  which  chanced  to  be  in  the  way,  sending  it 
yelping  from  the  wigwam ;  and  then,  having  worked 
herself  into  a  rage,  began  to  scold  her  husband,  who 
listened  grimly  but  said  nothing.  At  last  she  turned 
on  her  new-found  sister,  struck  her,  and  began  to  lay 
rending  hands  on  the  finery  that  their  mutual  husband 
had  given  her.  That  was  instantly  resented ;  and  in 
a  few  moments  the  squaws  were  rolling  on  the  floor, 
biting,  scratching,  and  pulling  each  other's  hair  with 
the  fury  of  devils  incarnate.  The  dogs,  attracted  by 
the  tumult,  ran  in  and  began  to  bark  at  them ;  the 
Indians  outside  the  hut  gathered  at  the  door,  looking 
in  and  laughing ;  the  husband  contemplated  them  as 
they  rolled  fighting  at  his  feet,  and  then  looked  at 


THE  INDIAN  TOWN.  157 

Cecil.  It  was  undoubtedly  trying  to  Indian  dignity, 
but  the  warrior  sustained  his  admirably.  "  Bad,  very 
bad,"  was  the  only  comment  he  allowed  himself  to 
make.  Cecil  took  his  leave,  and  the  brave  kept  up 
his  air  of  indifference  until  the  white  man  had  gone. 
Then  he  quietly  selected  a  cudgel  from  the  heap  of 
fire-wood  by  the  doorway,  and  in  a  short  time  peace 
reigned  in  the  wigwam. 

In  a  lodge  not  far  away,  Cecil  witnessed  another 
scene  yet  more  barbarous  than  this.  He  found  a 
little  blind  boy  sitting  on  the  ground  near  the  fire, 
surrounded  by  a  quantity  of  fish-bones  which  he  had 
been  picking.  He  was  made  a  subject  for  the  taunt 
ing  jibes  and  laughter  of  a  number  of  men  and  women 
squatting  around  him.  His  mother  sat  by  in  the  most 
cruel  apathy  and  unconcern,  and  only  smiled  when 
Cecil  expressed  commiseration  for  her  unfortunate 
and  peculiarly  unhappy  child.  It  had  been  neglected 
and  seemed  almost  starved.  Those  around  apparently 
took  pleasure  in  tormenting  it  and  rendering  it  miser 
able,  and  vied  with  each  other  in  applying  to  it  insult 
ing  and  degrading  epithets.  The  little  articles  that 
Cecil  gave  to  it,  in  the  hope  that  the  Indians  seeing 
him  manifest  an  interest  in  it  would  treat  it  more  ten 
derly,  it  put  to  its  mouth  eagerly;  but  not  finding 
them  eatable,  it  threw  them  aside  in  disgust.  Cecil 
turned  away  sick  at  heart.  Worn,  already  weary,  this 
last  sight  was  intolerable ;  and  he  went  out  into  the 
woods,  away  from  the  camp. 

But  as  he  walked  along  he  seemed  to  see  the  child 
again,  so  vividly  had  it  impressed  his  imagination.  It 
rose  before  him  in  the  wood,  when  the  noise  of  the 
camp  lay  far  behind ;  it  seemed  to  turn  its  sightless 


158  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

eyes  upon  him  and  reach  out  its  emaciated  arms  as  if 
appealing  for  help.1 

Out  in  the  wood  he  came  across  an  Indian  sitting 
on  a  log,  his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  his  attitude  in 
dicating  sickness  or  despondency.  He  looked  up  as 
Cecil  approached.  It  was  the  young  Willamette  run 
ner  who  had  been  his  companion  on  the  journey  down 
the  Columbia.  His  face  was  haggard ;  he  was  evi 
dently  very  sick.  The  missionary  stopped  and  tried 
to  talk  with  him,  but  could  evoke  little  response,  ex 
cept  that  he  did  not  want  to  talk,  and  that  he  wanted 
to  be  left  alone.  He  seemed  so  moody  and  irritable 
that  Cecil  thought  it  best  to  leave  him.  His  experi 
ence  was  that  talking  with  a  sick  Indian  was  very  much 
like  stirring  up  a  wounded  rattlesnake.  So  he  left  the 
runner  and  went  on  into  the  forest,  seeking  the  soli 
tude  without  which  he  could  scarcely  have  lived  amid 
the  degrading  barbarism  around  him.  His  spirit  re 
quired  frequent  communion  with  God  and  Nature, 
else  he  would  have  died  of  weariness  and  sickness 
of  heart. 

Wandering  listlessly,  he  went  on  further  and  further 
from  the  camp,  never  dreaming  of  what  lay  before 
him,  or  of  the  wild  sweet  destiny  to  which  that  dim 
Indian  trail  was  leading  him  through  the  shadowy 
wood. 

1  See  Townsend's  Narrative,  pages  182-183. 


THE    WHITE  WOMAN  IN  THE    WOOD.     159 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE    WHITE     WOMAN    IN    THE    WOOD. 

I  seek  a  sail  that  never  looms  from  out  the  purple  haze 
At  rosy  dawn,  or  fading  eve,  or  in  the  noontide's  blaze. 

CELIA  THAXTER. 

ECIL  walked  listlessly  on  through  the  wood.  He 
was  worn  out  by  the  day's  efforts,  though  it  was 
as  yet  but  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  There  was 
a  feeling  of  exhaustion  in  his  lungs,  a  fluttering  pain 
about  his  heart,  the  result  of  years  of  over-work  upon 
a  delicate  frame.  With  this  feeling  of  physical  weak 
ness  came  always  the  fear  that  his  strength  might 
give  way  ere  his  work  was  done.  Nor  was  this  all. 
In  these  times  of  depression,  the  longing  to  see  again 
the  faces  of  his  friends,  to  have  again  the  sweet  grace 
ful  things  of  the  life  that  was  forever  closed  to  him, 
rushed  over  him  in  a  bitter  flood. 

The  trail  led  him  to  the  bank  of  the  Columbia, 
some  distance  below  the  encampment.  He  looked 
out  over  the  blue  river  sweeping  majestically  on,  the 
white  snow-peaks,  the  canyons  deep  in  the  shadows 
of  afternoon,  the  dense  forest  beyond  the  river  ex 
tending  away  to  the  unknown  and  silent  North  as  far 
as  his  eyes  could  reach. 

"  It  is  wonderful,  wonderful !  "  he  thought.  "  But  I 
would  give  it  all  to  look  upon  one  white  face." 


160  THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE   GODS. 

So  musing,  he  passed  on  down  the  bank  of  the 
river.  He  was  now  perhaps  two  miles  from  the  camp 
and  seemingly  in  complete  solitude.  After  a  little  the 
path  turned  away  from  the  beach  and  led  toward  the 
interior.  As  he  entered  the  woodland  he  came  upon 
several  Indian  sentinels  who  lay,  bow  in  hand,  beside 
the  path.  They  sprang  up,  as  if  to  intercept  his  pas 
sage  ;  but  seeing  that  it  was  the  white  shaman  whom 
Multnomah  had  honored,  and  who  had  sat  at  the 
council  with  the  great  sachems,  they  let  him  go  on. 
Cecil  indistinctly  remembered  having  heard  from 
some  of  the  Indians  that  this  part  of  the  island  was 
strictly  guarded  ;  he  had  forgotten  why.  So  absorbed 
was  he  in  his  gloomy  reflections  that  he  did  not  stop 
to  question  the  sentinels,  but  went  on,  not  thinking 
that  he  might  be  treading  on  forbidden  ground.  By 
and  by  the  path  emerged  from  the  wood  upon  a  little 
prairie;  the  cottonwoods  shut  out  the  Indians  from 
him,  and  he  was  again  alone.  The  sunshine  lay  warm 
and  golden  on  the  little  meadow,  and  he  strolled  for 
ward  mechanically,  thinking  how  like  it  was  to  some 
of  the  sylvan  lawns  of  his  own  New  England  for 
ests.  Again  the  shade  of  trees  fell  over  the  path. 
He  looked  up,  his  mind  full  of  New  England  mem 
ories,  and  saw  something  that  made  his  heart  stand 
still.  For  there,  not  far  from  him,  stood  a  girl  clad 
in  soft  flowing  drapery,  the  dress  of  a  white  woman. 
In  Massachusetts  a  woman's  dress  would  have  been 
the  last  thing  Cecil  would  have  noticed.  Now,  so 
long  accustomed  to  the  Indian  squaws'  rough  gar 
ments  of  skin  or  plaited  bark,  the  sight  of  that  grace 
ful  woven  cloth  sent  through  him  an  indescribable 
thrill. 


THE    WHITE  WOMAN  IN  THE  WOOD.       l6l 

He  went  on,  his  eager  eyes  drinking  in  the  welcome 
sight,  yet  scarcely  believing  what  he  saw. 

She  had  not  yet  observed  him.  The  profile  of  her 
half-averted  face  was  very  sweet  and  feminine;  her 
form  was  rounded,  and  her  hair  fell  in  long  black 
ringlets  to  the  shoulders.  He  was  in  the  presence  of 
a  young  and  beautiful  woman,  —  a  white  woman  !  All 
this  he  noted  at  a  glance ;  noted,  too,  the  drooping 
lashes,  the  wistful  lines  about  the  lips,  the  mournful 
expression  that  shadowed  the  beauty  of  her  face. 

Who  was  she  ?     Where  could  she  have  come  from  ? 

She  heard  the  approaching  footsteps  and  turned 
toward  him.  Absolute  bewilderment  was  on  her  face 
for  a  moment,  and  then  it  glowed  with  light  and  joy. 
Her  dark,  sad  eyes  sparkled.  She  was  radiant,  as  if 
some  great,  long-looked  for  happiness  had  come  to 
her.  She  came  eagerly  toward  him,  holding  out  her 
hands  in  impetuous  welcome ;  saying  something  in  a 
language  he  did  not  understand,  but  which  he  felt 
could  not  be  Indian,  so  refined  and  pleasing  were 
the  tones. 

He  answered  he  knew  not  what,  in  his  own  tongue, 
and  she  paused  perplexed.  Then  he  spoke  again, 
this  time  in  Willamette. 

She  shrank  back  involuntarily. 

"That  language?  "  she  replied  in  the  same  tongue, 
but  with  a  tremor  of  disappointment  in  her  voice. 
"  I  thought  you  were  of  my  mother's  race  and  spoke 
her  language.  But  you  are  white,  like  her  people?  " 

She  had  given  him  both  her  hands,  and  he  stood 
holding  them ;  looking  down  into  her  eager,  lifted 
face,  where  a  great  hope  and  a  great  doubt  in  min 
gled  light  and  shadow  strove  together. 
ii 


1 62  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

"  I  am  a  white  man.  I  came  from  a  land  far  to 
the  East.  But  who  are  you,  and  how  came  you 
here?" 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  last  words,  only  the 
first. 

"  No,  no,"  she  protested  eagerly,  "  you  came  not 
from  the  East  but  from  the  West,  the  land  across  the 
sea  that  my  mother  came  from  in  the  ship  that  was 
wrecked."  And  she  withdrew  one  hand  and  pointed 
toward  the  wooded  range  beyond  which  lay  the 
Pacific. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  No,  there  are  white  people 
in  those  lands  too,  but  I  never  saw  them.  I  came 
from  the  East,"  he  said,  beginning  to  surmise  that 
she  must  be  an  Asiatic.  She  drew  away  the  hand 
that  he  still  held  in  his,  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears. 

•"I  thought  you  were  one  of  my  mother's  people," 
she  murmured ;  and  he  felt  that  the  pang  of  an  ex 
ceeding  disappointment  was  filling  her  heart. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  he  asked  gently. 
"The  daughter  of  Multnomah." 

Cecil  remembered  now  what  he  had  heard  of  the 
dead  white  wife  of  Multnomah,  and  of  her  daughter, 
who,  it  was  understood  among  the  tribes,  was  to  be 
given  to  Snoqualmie.  He  noticed,  too,  for  the  first 
time  the  trace  of  the  Indian  in  her  expression,  as  the 
light  faded  from  it  and  it  settled  back  into  the 
despondent  look  habitual  to  it.  All  that  was  chival 
rous  in  his  nature  went  out  to  the  fair  young  crea 
ture;  all  his  being  responded  to  the  sting  of  her 
disappointment. 

"  I  am  not  what  you  hoped  I  was,  but  your  face  is 


THE   WHITE   WOMAN  IN  THE    WOOD.     163 

like  the  face  of  the  women  of  my  own  land.  Shall  we 
not  be  friends?" 

She  looked  up  wistfully  at  the  handsome  and  noble 
countenance  above  her,  so  different  from  the  stolid 
visages  she  had  known  so  long. 

"  Yes  ;  you  are  not  Indian." 

In  that  one  expression  she  unconsciously  told 
Cecil  how  her  sensitive  nature  shrank  from  the  bar 
barism  around  her ;  how  the  tastes  and  aspirations 
she  had  inherited  from  her  mother  reached  out  for 
better  and  higher  things. 

In  a  little  while  they  were  seated  on  a  grassy  bank 
in  the  shade  of  the  trees,  talking  together.  She  bade 
him  tell  her  of  his  people.  She  listened  intently ;  the 
bright,  beautiful  look  came  back  as  she  heard  the  tale. 

"They  are  kind  to  women,  instead  of  making 
them  mere  burden-bearers ;  they  have  pleasant 
homes ;  they  dwell  in  cities  ?  Then  they  are  like 
my  mother's  people." 

"  They  are  gentle,  kind,  humane.  They  have  all 
the  arts  that  light  up  life  and  make  it  beautiful,  —  not 
like  the  tribes  of  this  grim,  bloodstained  land." 

"  This  land  !  "  Her  face  darkened  and  she  lifted 
her  hand  in  a  quick,  repelling  gesture.  "  This  land 
is  a  grave.  The  clouds  lie  black  and  heavy  on  the 
spirit  that  longs  for  the  sunlight  and  cannot  reach  it." 
She  turned  to  him  again.  "  Go  on,  your  words  are 
music." 

He  continued,  and  she  listened  till  the  story  of 
his  country  and  his  wanderings  was  done.  When  he 
ended,  she  drew  a  glad,  deep  breath  ;  her  eyes  were 
sparkling  with  joy. 

"  I  am  content,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  in  which  there 


1 64      THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

was  a  deep  heart-thrill  of  happiness.  "  Since  my 
mother  died  I  have  been  alone,  all  alone ;  and  I 
longed,  oh  so  often,  for  some  one  who  talked  and  felt 
as  she  did  to  come  to  me,  and  now  you  have  come. 
I  sat  cold  and  shivering  in  the  night  a  long  time,  but 
the  light  and  warmth  have  come  at  last.  Truly,  Allah 
is  good  !  " 

"  Allah  !  " 

"Yes;  he  was  my  mother's  God,  as  the  Great 
Spirit  is  my  father's." 

"  They  are  both  names  for  the  same  All  Father," 
replied  Cecil.  "  They  mean  the  same  thing,  even  as 
the  sun  is  called  by  many  names  by  many  tribes,  yet 
there  is  but  the  one  sun." 

"  Then  I  am  glad.  It  is  good  to  learn  that  both 
prayed  to  the  one  God,  though  they  did  not  know 
it.  But  my  mother  taught  me  to  use  the  name  of 
Allah,  and  not  the  other.  And  while  my  father  and 
the  tribes  call  me  by  my  Indian  name,  'Wallulah,' 
she  gave  me  another,  a  secret  name,  that  I  was  never 
to  forget." 

"What  is  it?" 

'•'  I  have  never  told  it,  but  I  will  tell  you,  for  you 
can  understand." 

And  she  gave  him  a  singularly  melodious  name,  of 
a  character  entirely  different  from  any  he  had  ever 
heard,  but  which  he  guessed  to  be  Arabic  or  Hindu. 

"  It  means,  '  She  who  watches  for  the  morning.' 
My  mother  told  me  never  to  forget  it,  and  to  remem 
ber  that  I  was  not  to  let  myself  grow  to  be  like  the 
Indians,  but  to  pray  to  Allah,  and  to  watch  and  hope, 
and  that  sometime  the  morning  would  come  and  I 
would  be  saved  from  the  things  around  me.  And 


THE   WHITE   WOMAN  IN  THE    WOOD.      165 

now  you  have  come  and  the  dawn  comes  with 
you." 

Her  glad,  thankful  glance  met  his ;  the  latent  grace 
and  mobility  of  her  nature,  all  roused  and  vivid  under 
his  influence,  transfigured  her  face,  making  it  deli 
cately  lovely.  A  great  pang  of  longing  surged  through 
him. 

"  Oh,"  he  thought,  "  had  I  not  become  a  missionary, 
I  might  have  met  and  loved  some  one  like  her  !  I 
might  have  filled  my  life  with  much  that  is  now  gone 
from  it  forever  !  " 

For  eight  years  he  had  seen  only  the  faces  of  savage 
women  and  still  more  savage  men ;  for  eight  years  his 
life  had  been  steeped  in  bitterness,  and  all  that  was 
tender  or  romantic  in  his  nature  had  been  cramped, 
as  in  iron  fetters,  by  the  coarseness  and  stolidity  around 
him.  Now,  after  all  that  dreary  time,  he  met  one  who 
had  the  beauty  and  the  refinement  of  his  own  race. 
Was  it  any  wonder  that  her  glance,  the  touch  of  her 
dress  or  hair,  the  soft  tones  of  her  voice,  had  for  him 
an  indescribable  charm?  Was  it  any  wonder  that  his 
heart  went  out  to  her  in  a  yearning  tenderness  that 
although  not  love  was  dangerously  akin  to  it  ? 

He  was  startled  at  the  sweet  and  burning  tumult  of 
emotion  she  was  kindling  within  him.  What  was  he 
thinking  of?  He  must  shake  these  feelings  off,  or 
leave  her.  Leave  her  !  The  gloom  of  the  savagery 
that  awaited  him  at  the  camp  grew  tenfold  blacker 
than  ever.  All  the  light  earth  held  for  him  seemed 
gathered  into  the  presence  of  this  dark-eyed  girl  who 
sat  talking  so  musically,  so  happily,  by  his  side. 

"  I  must  go,"  he  forced  himself  to  say  at  length. 
"The  sun  is  almost  down." 


1 66      THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

"  Must  you  go  so  soon?  " 

"  I  will  come  again  if  you  wish." 

"  But  you  must  not  go  yet ;  wait  till  the  sun  reaches 
the  mountain-tops  yonder.  I  want  you  to  tell  me 
more  about  your  own  land." 

So  he  lingered  and  talked  while  the  sun  sank  lower 
and  lower  in  the  west.  It  seemed  to  him  that  it  had 
never  gone  down  so  fast  before. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  he  said,  rising  as  the  sun's  red 
disk  sank  behind  the  mountains. 

"  It  is  not  late  ;  see,  the  sun  is  shining  yet  on  the 
brow  of  the  snow  mountains." 

Both  looked  at  the  peaks  that  towered  grandly  in 
the  light  of  the  sunken  sun  while  all  the  world  below 
lay  in  shadow.  Together  they  watched  the  mighty 
miracle  of  the  afterglow  on  Mount  Tacoma,  the  soft 
rose- flush  that  transfigured  the  mountain  till  it  grew 
transparent,  delicate,  wonderful. 

"  That  is  what  my  life  is  now,  —  sjnce  you  have 
brought  the  light  to  the  '  watcher  for  the  morning ; '  " 
and  she  looked  up  at  him  with  a  bright,  trustful  smile. 

"  Alas  ?  "  thought  Cecil,  "  it  is  not  the  light  of  morn 
ing  but  of  sunset." 

Slowly  the  radiance  faded,  the  rose  tint  passed ;  the 
mountain  grew  white  and  cold  under  their  gaze,  like 
the  face  of  death.  Wallulah  shuddered  as,  if  it  were 
a  prophecy. 

"  You  will  come  back  to-morrow?"  she  said,  look 
ing  at  him  with  her  large,  appealing  eyes. 

"  I  will  come,"  he  said. 

"  It  will  seem  long  till  your  return,  yet  I  have  lived 
so  many  years  waiting  for  that  which  has  come  at  last 
that  I  have  learned  to  be  patient." 


THE    WHITE    WOMAN  IN  THE    WOOD.      167 

"  Ask  God  to  help  you  in  your  hours  of  loneliness 
and  they  will  not  seem  so  long  and  dark,"  said  Cecil, 
whose  soul  was  one  tumultuous  self-reproach  that  he 
had  let  the  time  go  by  without  telling  her  more  of 
God. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said  in  a  strange,  wistful  way,  "  I  have 
prayed  to  him  so  much,  but  he  could  not  fill  all  my 
heart.  I  wanted  so  to  touch  a  hand  and  look  on  a 
face  like  my  mother's.  But  God  has  sent  you,  and 
so  I  know  he  must  be  good." 

They  parted,  and  he  went  back  to  the  camp. 

"  Is  my  mission  a  failure  ? "  he  thought,  as  he 
walked  along,  clinching  his  hands  in  furious  anger 
with  himself.  "  Why  do  I  let  a  girl's  beauty  move 
me  thus,  and  she  the  promised  wife  of  another? 
How  dare  I  think  of  aught  beside  the  work  God  has 
sent  me  here  to  do?  Oh,  the  shame  and  guilt  of 
such  weakness  !  I  will  be  faithful.  I  will  never  look 
upon  her  face  again  !  " 

He  emerged  from  the  wood  into  the  camp ;  its 
multitudinous  sounds  were  all  around  him,  and  never 
had  the  coarseness  and  savagery  of  Indian  life  seemed 
so  repellent  as  now,  when  he  came  back  to  it  with  his 
mind  full  of  Wallulah's  grace  and  loveliness.  It  was 
harsh  discord  after  music. 

Stripped  and  painted  barbarians  were  hallooing, 
feasting,  dancing ;  the  whole  camp  was  alive  with 
boisterous  hilarity,  the  result  of  a  day  of  good  fellow 
ship.  Mothers  were  calling  their  children  in  the 
dusk  and  young  men  were  sportively  answering, 
"  Here  I  am,  mother."  Here  and  there,  Indians  who 
had  been  feasting  all  day  lay  like  gorged  anacondas 
beside  the  remnant  of  their  meal ;  others,  who  had 


1 68      THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

been  gambling,  were  talking  loudly  of  the  results  of 
the  game. 

Through  it  all  the  white  man  walked  with  swift 
footsteps,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left, 
till  he  gained  his  lodge.  He  flung  himself  on  his  bed 
and  lay  there,  his  fingers  strained  together  convul 
sively,  his  nerves  throbbing  with  pain ;  vainly  strug 
gling  with  regret,  vainly  repeating  to  himself  that  he 
cared  nothing  for  love  and  home,  that  he  had  put  all 
those  things  from  him,  that  he  was  engrossed  now 
only  in  his  work. 

"  Never,  never  !    It  can  never  be." 

And  the  English  exploring-ship  in  Yaquina  Bay  was 
to  weigh  anchor  on  the  morrow,  and  sail  up  nearer 
along  the  unknown  coast.  The  Indians  had  all  de 
serted  the  sea-board  for  the  council.  Would  Cecil 
hear?  Would  any  one  see  the  sail  and  bring  the 
news? 


CECIL  AND    THE   WAR-CHIEF.  169 


CHAPTER    III. 

CECIL   AND   THE    WAR-CHIEF. 

Children  of  the  sun,  with  whom  revenge  is  virtue. 

YOUNG. 

the  next  day  came  the  races,  the  great  diver- 
sion  of  the  Indians.  Each  tribe  ran  only  one 
horse,  —  the  best  it  had.  There  were  thirty  tribes  or 
bands,  each  with  its  choicest  racer  on  the  track.  The 
Puget  Sound  and  lower  Columbia  Indians,  being  des 
titute  of  horses,  were  not  represented.  There  had 
been  races  every  day  on  a  small  scale,  but  they  were 
only  private  trials  of  speed,  while  to-day  was  the  great 
day  of  racing  for  all  the  tribes,  the  day  when  the  head 
chiefs  ran  their  horses. 

The  competition  was  close,  but  Snoqualmie  the 
Cayuse  won  the  day.  He  rode  the  fine  black  horse 
he  had  taken  from  the  Bannock  he  had  tortured  to 
death.  Multnomah  and  the  chiefs  were  present,  and 
the  victory  was  won  under  the  eyes  of  all  the  tribes. 
The  haughty,  insolent  Cayuse  felt  that  he  had  gained 
a  splendid  success.  Only,  as  in  the  elation  of  victory 
his  glance  swept  over  the  crowd,  he  met  the  sad,  un- 
applauding  gaze  of  Cecil,  and  it  made  his  ever  burn 
ing  resentment  grow  hotter  still. 

"  I  hate  that  man,"  he  thought.  "  I  tried  to  thrust 
him  down  into  slavery,  and  Multnomah  made  him  a 
chief.  My  heart  tells  me  that  he  is  an  enemy.  I 
hate  him.  I  will  kill  him." 


1 70      THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

"  Poor  Wallulah  !  "  Cecil  was  thinking.  "  What  a 
terrible  future  is  before  her  as  the  wife  of  that  inhuman 
torturer  of  men  !  " 

And  his  sympathies  went  out  to  the  lonely  girl,  the 
golden  thread  of  whose  life  was  to  be  interwoven  with 
the  bloodstained  warp  and  woof  of  Snoqualmie's. 
But  he  tried  hard  not  to  think  of  her ;  he  strove  res 
olutely  that  day  to  absorb  himself  in  his  work,  and 
the  effort  was  not  unsuccessful. 

After  the  races  were  over,  a  solemn  council  was 
held  in  the  grove  and  some  important  questions  dis 
cussed  and  decided.  Cecil  took  part,  endeavoring  in 
a  quiet  way  to  set  before  the  chiefs  a  higher  ideal  of 
justice  and  mercy  than  their  own.  He  was  heard  with 
grave  attention,  and  saw  that  more  than  one  chief 
seemed  impressed  by  his  words.  Only  Snoqualmie 
was  sullen  and  inattentive,  and  Mishlah  the  Cougar 
was  watchful  and  suspicious. 

After  the  council  was  over  Cecil  went  to  his  lodge. 
On  the  way  he  found  the  young  Willamette  runner 
sitting  on  a  log  by  the  path,  looking  even  more  woe 
begone  than  he  had  the  day  before.  Cecil  stopped  to 
inquire  how  he  was. 

"  Cultus  [bad],"  was  grunted  in  response. 

"  Did  you  see  the  races?  " 

"  Races  bad.     What  do  I  care?  " 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  better  soon." 

"Yes,  better  or  worse  by  and  by.  What  do  I 
care?" 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you?  " 

"Yes." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Go." 


CECIL  AND    THE    WAR-CHIEF.  171 

And  he  dropped  his  hand  upon  his  knees,  doubled 
himself  together,  and  refused  to  say  another  word. 
As  Cecil  turned  to  go  he  found  Multnomah  standing 
close  by,  watching  him. 

"  Come,"  said  the  stern  despot,  briefly.  "  I  want 
to  talk  with  you." 

He  led  the  way  back  through  the  noisy  encamp 
ment  to  the  now  deserted  grove  of  council.  Every 
thing  there  was  quiet  and  solitary ;  the  thick  circle  of 
trees  hid  them  from  the  camp,  though  its  various 
sounds  floated  faintly  to  them.  They  were  quite 
alone.  Multnomah  seated  himself  on  the  stone  cov 
ered  with  furs,  that  was  his  place  in  the  council. 
Cecil  remained  standing  before  him,  wondering  what 
was  on  his  mind.  Was  the  war-chief  aware  of  his 
interview  with  Wallulah  ?  If  so,  what  then  ?  Mult 
nomah  fixed  on  him  the  gaze  which  few  men  met 
without  shrinking. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  while  it  seemed  to  Cecil  as  if 
that  eagle  glance  read  every  secret  of  his  innermost 
heart,  "  tell  me  where  your  land  is,  and  why  you  left 
it,  and  the  reason  for  your  coming  among  us.  Keep 
no  thought  covered,  for  Multnomah  will  see  it  if  you 
do." 

Cecil's  eye  kindled,  his  cheek  flushed.  Wallulah  was 
forgotten ;  his  mission,  and  his  mission  only,  was  re 
membered.  He  stood  before  one  who  held  over  the 
many  tribes  of  the  Wauna  the  authority  of  a  prince  ; 
if  he  could  but  be  won  for  Christ,  what  vast  results 
might  follow  ! 

He  told  it  all,  —  the  story  of  his  home  and  his  work, 
his  call  of  God  to  go  to  the  Indians,  his  long  wander 
ings,  the  message  he  had  to  deliver,  how  it  had  been 


172  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

received  by  some  and  rejected  by  many ;  now  he  was 
here,  a  messenger  sent  by  the  Great  Spirit  to  tell  the 
tribes  of  the  Wauna  the  true  way  of  life.  He  told  it 
all,  and  never  had  he  been  so  eloquent.  It  .was  a 
striking  contrast,  the  grim  Indian  sitting  there  leaning 
on  his  bow,  his  sharp,  treacherous  gaze  bent  like  a 
bird  of  prey  on  the  delicately  moulded  man  pleading 
before  him. 

He  listened  till  Cecil  began  to  talk  of  love  and 
forgiveness  as  duties  enjoined  by  the  Great  Spirit. 
Then  he  spoke  abruptly. 

"  When  you  stood  up  in  the  council  the  day  the  bad 
chief  was  tried,  and  told  of  the  weakness  and  the  wars 
that  would  come  if  the  confederacy  was  broken  up, 
you  talked  wisely  and  like  a  great  chief  and  warrior ; 
now  you  talk  like  a  woman.  Love  !  forgiveness  !  " 
He  repeated  the  words,  looking  at  Cecil  with  a  kind 
of  wondering  scorn,  as  if  he  could  not  comprehend 
such  weakness  in  one  who  looked  like  a  brave  man. 
"  War  and  hate  are  the  life  of  the  Indian.  They  are 
the  strength  of  his  heart.  Take  them  away,  and  you 
drain  the  blood  from  his  veins ;  you  break  his  spirit ; 
he  becomes  a  squaw." 

"  But  my  people  love  and  forgive,  yet  they  are  not 
squaws.  They  are  brave  and  hardy  in  battle ;  their 
towns  are  great ;  their  country  is  like  a  garden." 

And  he  told  Multnomah  of  the  laws,  the  towns,  the 
schools,  the  settled  habits  and  industry  of  New  Eng 
land.  The  chief  listened  with  growing  impatience. 
At  length  he  threw  his  arm  up  with  an  indescribable 
gesture  of  freedom,  like  a  man  rejecting  a  fetter. 

"  How  can  they  breathe,  shut  in,  bound  down  like 
that?  How  can  they  live,  so  tied  and  burdened?  " 


CECIL  AND    THE  WAR-CHIEF.  173 

"  Is  not  that  better  than  tribe  forever  warring 
against  tribe  ?  Is  it  not  better  to  live  like  men  than 
to  lurk  in  dens  and  feed  on  roots  like  beasts?  Yet 
we  will  fight,  too ;  the  white  man  does  not  love  war, 
but  he  will  go  to  battle  when  his  cause  is  just  and  war 
must  be." 

"  So  will  the  deer  and  the  cayote  fight  when  they 
can  flee  no  longer.  The  Indian  loves  battle.  He 
loves  to  seek  out  his  enemy,  to  grapple  with  him,  and 
to  tread  him  down.  That  is  a  man's  life  !  " 

There  was  a  wild  grandeur  in  the  chiefs  tone.  All 
the  tameless  spirit  of  his  race  seemed  to  speak  through 
him,  the  spirit  that  has  met  defeat  and  extermination 
rather  than  bow  its  neck  to  the  yoke  of  civilization. 
Cecil  realized  that  on  the  iron  fibre  of  the  war-chiefs 
nature  his  pleading  made  no  impression  whatever,  and 
his  heart  sank  within  him. 

Again  he  tried  to  speak  of  the  ways  of  peace,  but 
the  chief  checked  him  impatiently. 

"  That  is  talk  for  squaws  and  old  men.  Multnomah 
does  not  understand  it.  Talk  like  a  man,  if  you  wish 
him  to  listen.  Multnomah  does  not  forgive;  Mult 
nomah  wants  no  peace  with  his  enemies.  If  they  are 
weak  he  tramples  on  them  and  makes  them  slaves ;  if 
they  are  strong  he  fights  them.  When  the  Shoshones 
take  from  Multnomah,  he  takes  from  them ;  if  they 
give  him  war  he  gives  them  war ;  if  they  torture  one 
Willamette  at  the  stake,  Multnomah  stretches  two  Sho 
shones  upon  red-hot  stones.  Multnomah  gives  hate 
for  hate  and  war  for  war.  This  is  the  law  the  Great 
Spirit  has  given  the  Indian.  What  law  he  has  given 
the  white  man,  Multnomah  knows  not  nor  cares  !  " 

Baffled  in  his  attempt,  Cecil   resorted  to  another 


174  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

line  of  persuasion.  He  set  before  Multnomah  the 
arts,  the  intelligence,  the  splendor  of  the  white  race. 

"  The  Indian  has  his  laws  and  customs,  and  that  is 
well ;  but  why  not  council  with  the  white  people,  even 
as  chiefs  council  together?  Send  an  embassy  to 
ask  that  wise  white  men  be  sent  you,  so  that  you 
may  learn  of  their  arts  and  laws ;  and  what  seems 
wise  and  good  you  can  accept,  what  seems  not  so 
can  be  set  aside.  I  know  the  ways  that  lead  back  to 
the  land  of  the  white  man ;  I  myself  would  lead  the 
embassy." 

It  was  a  noble  conception,  —  that  of  making  a  treaty 
between  this  magnificent  Indian  confederacy  and  New 
England  for  the  purpose  of  introducing  civilization  and 
religion ;  and  for  a  moment  he  lost  sight  of  the  insur 
mountable  obstacles  in  the  way. 

"  No,"  replied  the  chief,  "  neither  alone  nor  as 
leader  of  a  peace  party  will  your  feet  ever  tread  again 
the  path  that  leads  back  to  the  land  of  the  white  man. 
We  want  not  upon  our  shoulders  the  burden  of  his 
arts  and  laws.  We  want  not  his  teachers  to  tell  us 
how  to  be  women.  If  the  white  man  wants  us,  let 
him  find  his  way  over  the  desert  and  through  the 
mountains,  and  we  will  grapple  with  him  and  see 
which  is  the  strongest." 

So  saying,  the  war-chief  rose  and  left  him. 

"  He  says  that  I  shall  never  be  allowed  to  go  back," 
thought  Cecil,  with  a  bitter  consciousness  of  defeat. 
"Then  my  mission  ends  here  in  the  land  of  the 
Bridge,  even  as  I  have  so  often  dreamed  that  it  would. 
So  be  it ;  I  shall  work  the  harder  now  that  I  see  the 
end  approaching.  I  shall  gather  the  chiefs  in  my 
own  lodge  this  evening  and  preach  to  them." 


CECIL   AND    THE    WAR-CHIEF,  175 

While  he  was  forming  his  resolution,  there  came 
the  recollection  that  Wallulah  would  look  for  him, 
would  be  expecting  him  to  come  to  her. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  thought,  though  he  yearned  to  go 
to  her.  "  I  cannot  go ;  I  must  be  faithful  to  my 
mission." 

Many  chiefs  came  that  night  to  his  lodge ;  among 
them,  to  his  surprise,  Tohomish  the  seer.  Long  and 
animated  was  Cecil's  talk ;  beautiful  and  full  of  spir 
itual  fervor  were  the  words  in  which  he  pointed  them 
to  a  better  life.  Tohomish  was  impassive,  listening 
in  his  usual  brooding  way.  The  others  seemed  inter 
ested  ;  but  when  he  was  done  they  all  rose  up  and 
went  away  without  a  word,  —  all  except  the  Shoshone 
renegade  who  had  helped  him  bury  the  dead  Ban 
nock.  He  came  to  Cecil  before  leaving  the  lodge. 

"Sometime,"  he  said,  "when  it  will  be  easier  for 
me  to  be  good  than  it  is  now,  I  will  try  to  live  the 
life  you  talked  about  to-night." 

Then  he  turned  and  went  out  before  Cecil  could 
reply. 

"There  is  one  at  least  seeking  to  get  nearer  God," 
thought  Cecil,  joyfully.  After  awhile  his  enthusiasm 
faded  away,  and  he  remembered  how  anxiously  Wal 
lulah  must  have  waited  for  him,  and  how  bitterly  she 
must  have  been  disappointed.  Her  face,  pale  and 
stained  with  tears,  rose  plainly  before  him.  A  deep 
remorse  filled  his  heart. 

"  Poor  child  !  I  am  the  first  white  person  she  has 
seen  since  her  mother  died ;  no  wonder  she  longs  for 
my  presence  !  I  must  go  to  her  to-morrow.  After 
all,  there  is  no  danger  of  my  caring  for  her.  To  me 
my  work  is  all  in  all." 


176  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

ARCHERY   AND    GAMBLING. 

To  gambling  they  are  no  less  passionately  addicted  in  the  interior 
than  on  the  coast.  —  BANCROFT:  Native  Races. 

r  I  "HE  next  morning  carne  the  archery  games.  The 
•^  best  marksmen  of  each  tribe  contended  together 
under  the  eyes  of  Multnomah,  and  Snoqualmie  the 
Cayuse  won  the  day. 

These  diversions  were  beginning  to  produce  the 
result  that  the  politic  chief  had  intended  they  should. 
Better  feeling  was  springing  up.  The  spirit  of  discon 
tent  that  had  been  rife  was  disappearing.  Every  day 
good-fellowship  grew  more  and  more  between  the 
Willamettes  and  their  allies.  Every  day  Snoqualmie 
the  Cayuse  became  more  popular  among  the  tribes, 
and  already  he  was  second  in  influence  to  none  but 
Multnomah  himself. 

The  great  war-chief  had  triumphed  over  every 
obstacle ;  and  he  waited  now  only  for  the  last  day  of 
the  council,  when  his  daughter  should  be  given  to 
Snoqualmie  and  the  chiefs  should  recognize  him  as 
the  future  head  of  the  confederacy. 

Knowing  this,  the  sight  of  Snoqualmie's  successful 
archery  was  almost  intolerable  to  Cecil,  and  he  turned 
away  from  the  place  where  the  games  were  held. 

"  I  will  seek  the  young  Willamette  who  is  sick," 


ARCHERY  AND   GAMBLING.  177 

he  said  to  himself.  "  Then  this  evening  I  will  go  and 
visit  Wallulah." 

The  thought  sent  the  blood  coursing  warmly  through 
his  veins,  but  he  chided  himself  for  it.  "  It  is  but 
duty,  I  go  to  her  only  as  a  missionary,"  he  repeated 
to  himself  over  and  over  again. 

He  went  to  the  lodge  of  the  young  Willamette  and 
asked  for  him. 

"  He  is  not  here,"  the  father  of  the  youth  told  him. 
"  He  is  in  the  sweat-house.  He  is  sick  this  morning, 
hieu  sick." 

And  the  old  man  emphasized  the  hieu  [much], 
with  a  prolonged  intonation  and  a  comprehensive 
gesture  as  if  the  young  man  were  very  sick  indeed. 
To  the  sweat-house  went  Cecil  forthwith.  He  found 
it  to  be  a  little  arched  hut,  made  by  sticking  the  ends 
of  bent  willow-wands  into  the  ground  and  covering 
them  over  with  skins,  leaving  only  a  small  opening 
for  entrance.  When  a  sick  person  wished  to  take  one 
of  those  "  sweat  baths  "  so  common  among  the  Indians, 
stones  were  heated  red  hot  and  put  within  the  hut, 
and  water  was  poured  on  them.  The  invalid,  stripped 
to  the  skin,  entered,  the  opening  was  closed  behind 
him,  and  he  was  left  to  steam  in  the  vapors. 

When  Cecil  came  up,  the  steam  was  pouring  between 
the  overlapping  edges  of  the  skins,  and  he  could  hear 
the  young  Willamette  inside,  chanting  a  low  monoto 
nous  song,  an  endlessly  repeated  invocation  to  his 
totem  to  make  him  well.  How  he  could  sing  or  even 
breathe  in  that  stifling  atmosphere  was  a  mystery  to 
Cecil. 

By  and  by  the  Willamette  raised  the  flap  that  hung 
over  the  entrance  and  crawled  out,  hot,  steaming, 

12 


1 78      THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

perspiring  at  every  pore.  He  rushed  with  unsteady 
footsteps  down  to  the  river,  only  a  few  yards  away, 
and  plunged  into  the  cold  water.  After  repeatedly 
immersing  himself,  he  waded  back  to  the  shore  and 
lay  down  to  dry  in  the  sun.  The  shock  to  his  nervous 
system  of  plunging  from  a  hot  steam-bath  into  ice- 
cold  water  fresh  from  the  snow  peaks  of  the  north 
had  roused  all  his  latent  vitality.  He  had  recovered 
enough  to  be  sullen  and  resentful  to  Cecil  when  he 
came  up ;  and  after  vainly  trying  to  talk  with  or  help 
him,  the  missionary  left  him. 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  Indian,  perhaps  of  most 
half-animal  races,  that  their  moral  conduct  depends 
on  physical  feeling.  Like  the  animal,  they  are  good- 
humored,  even  sportive,  when  all  is  well;  like  the 
animal,  they  are  sluggish  and  unreasoning  in  time  of 
sickness. 

Cecil  went  back  to  the  camp.  He  found  that  the 
archery  games  were  over,  and  that  a  great  day  of 
gambling  had  begun.  He  wa's  astonished  at  the 
eagerness  with  which  all  the  Indians  flung  themselves 
into  it.  Multnomah  alone  took  no  part,  and  Toho- 
mish,  visible  only  at  the  council,  was  not  there.  But 
with  those  two  exceptions,  chiefs,  warriors,  all  flung 
themselves  headlong  into  the  game. 

First,  some  of  the  leading  chiefs  played  at  "  hand," 
and  each  tribe  backed  its  chief.  Furs,  skins,  weapons, 
all  manner  of  Indian  wealth  was  heaped  in  piles  be 
hind  the  gamblers,  constituting  the  stakes ;  and  they 
were  divided  among  the  tribes  of  the  winners,  —  each 
player  representing  a  tribe,  and  his  winnings  going, 
not  to  himself,  but  to  his  people.  This  rule  applied, 
of  course,  only  to  the  great  public  games ;  in  private 


ARCHERY  AND   GAMBLING.  179 

games  of"  hand  "  each  successful  player  kept  his  own 
spoils. 

Amid  the  monotonous  chant  that  always  accom 
panied  gambling,  the  two  polished  bits  of  bone  (the 
winning  one  marked,  the  other  not)  were  passed 
secretly  from  hand  to  hand.  The  bets  were  made 
as  to  who  held  the  marked  stick  and  in  which  hand, 
then  a  show  of  hands  was  made  and  the  game  was 
lost  and  won. 

From  "  hand  "  they  passed  to  ahikia,  a  game  like 
that  of  dice,  played  with  figured  beaver  teeth  or 
disks  of  ivory,  which  were  tossed  up,  everything 
depending  on  the  combination  of  figures  presented 
in  their  fall.  It  was  played  recklessly.  The  Indians 
were  carried  away  by  excitement.  They  bet  any 
thing  and  everything  they  had.  Wealthy  chiefs 
staked  their  all  on  the  turn  of  the  ivory  disks,  and 
some  were  beggared,  some  enriched.  Cecil  noticed 
in  particular  Mishlah  the  Cougar,  chief  of  the  Molal- 
lies.  He  was  like  a  man  intoxicated.  His  huge 
bestial  face  was  all  ablaze  with  excitement,  his  eyes 
were  glowing  like  coals.  He  had  scarcely  enough 
intellect  to  understand  the  game,  but  enough  com- 
bativeness  to  fling  himself  into  it  body  and  soul.  He 
bet  his  horses  and  lost  them ;  he  bet  his  slaves  and 
lost  again ;  he  bet  his  lodges,  with  their  rude  furnish 
ings  of  mat  and  fur,  and  lost  once  more.  Maddened, 
furious,  like  a  lion  in  the  toils,  the  desperate  savage 
staked  his  wives  and  children  on  the  throw  of  the 
ahikia,  and  they  were  swept  from  him  into  perpetual 
slavery. 

Then  he  rose  up  and  glared  upon  his  opponents, 
with  his  tomahawk  clinched  in  his  hand,  —  as  if  feeling 


l8o  THE  BRIDGE   OF   THE   GODS. 

dimly  that  he  had  been  wronged,  thirsting  for  ven 
geance,  ready  to  strike,  yet  not  knowing  upon  whom 
the  blow  should  fall.  There  was  death  in  his  look,  and 
the  chiefs  shrunk  from  him,  when  his  eyes  met  Mult- 
nomah's,  who  was  looking  on ;  and  the  war-chief 
checked  and  awed  him  with  his  cold  glance,  as  a 
tamer  of  beasts  might  subdue  a  rebellious  tiger.  Then 
the  Molallie  turned  and  went  away,  raging,  desper 
ate,  a  chief  still,  but  a  chief  without  lodge  or  wife  or 
slave. 

The  sight  was  painful  to  Cecil,  and  he  too  went 
away  while  the  game  was  at  its  height.  Drawn  by  an 
influence  that  he  could  not  resist,  he  took  the  trail 
that  led  down  the  bank  of  the  river  to  the  retreat  of 
Wallulah. 


A  DEAD   QUEEN'S  JEWELS.  181 


CHAPTER   V. 

A  DEAD  QUEEN'S  JEWELS. 

For  round  about  the  walls  yclothed  were 
With  goodly  arras  of  great  maiesty, 
Woven  with  golde  and  silke  so  close  and  nere 
That  the  rich  metall  lurked  privily. 

The  Faerie  Queene. 

T  T  E  found  the  sentinels  by  the  pathway  half  reluc- 
•*•  **•  tant  to  let  him  pass,  but  they  did  not  forbid 
him.  Evidently  it  was  only  their  awe  of  him  as  the 
"  Great  White  Prophet,"  to  whom  Multnomah  had 
added  the  dignity  of  an  Indian  sachem,  that  over 
came  their  scruples.  It  was  with  a  sense  of  doing 
wrong  that  he  went  on.  "  If  Multnomah  knew,"  he 
thought,  "what  would  he  do?"  And  brave  as  Cecil 
was,  he  shuddered,  thinking  how  deadly  the  wrath 
of  the  war-chief  would  be,  if  he  knew  of  these  secret 
visits  to  his  daughter. 

"It  is  an  abuse  of  hospitality;  it  is  clandestine, 
wrong,"  he  thought  bitterly.  "And  yet  she  is  lonely^ 
she  needs  me,  and  I  must  go  to  her ;  but  I  will  never 
go  again." 

Where  he  had  met  her  before,  he  found  her  waiting 
for  him  now,  a  small,  graceful  figure,  standing  in  the 
shadow  of  the  wood.  She  heard  his  footsteps  before 
he  saw  her,  and  the  melancholy  features  were  trans 
figured  with  joy.  She  stood  hesitating  a  moment  like 


1 82  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

some  shy  creature  of  the  forest,  then  sprang  eagerly 
forward  to  meet  him. 

"  I  knew  you  were  coming  !  "  she  cried  rapturously. 
"  I  felt  your  approach  long  before  I  heard  your  foot 
steps." 

"  How  is  that?  "  said  Cecil,  holding  her  hands  and 
looking  down  into  her  radiant  eyes.  Something  of  the 
wild  Indian  mysticism  flashed  in  them  as  she  replied  : 

"  I  cannot  tell ;  I  knew  it !  my  spirit  heard  your 
steps  long  before  my  ears  could  catch  the  sound. 
But  oh  !  "  she  cried  in  sudden  transition,  her  face 
darkening,  her  eyes  growing  large  and  pathetic,  "  why 
did  you  not  come  yesterday?  I  so  longed  for  you 
and  you  did  not  come.  It  seemed  as  if  the  day 
would  never  end.  I  thought  that  perhaps  the  Indians 
had  killed  you ;  I  thought  it  might  be  that  I  should 
never  see  you  again ;  and  all  the  world  grew  dark  as 
night,  I  felt  so  terribly  alone.  Promise  me  you  will 
never  stay  away  so  long  again  !  " 

"  Never  !  "  exclaimed  Cecil,  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment.  An  instant  later  he  would  have  given  the 
world  to  have  recalled  the  word. 

"  I  am  so  glad  !  "  she  cried,  clapping  her  hands  in 
girlish  delight;  and  he  could  not  pain  her  by  an 
explanation. 

"  After  a  while  I  will  tell  her  how  impossible  it  is 
for  me  to  come  again,"  he  thought.  "  I  cannot  tell 
her  now."  And  he  seized  upon  every  word  and  look 
of  the  lovely  unconscious  girl,  with  a  hunger  of  heart 
born  of  eight  years'  starvation. 

"  Now  you  must  come  with  me  to  my  lodge  ;  you 
are  my  guest,  and  I  shall  entertain  you.  I  want  you 
to  look  at  my  treasures." 


A   DEAD  QUEEN'S  JEWELS.  183 

Cecil  went  with  her,  wondering  if  they  would  meet 
Multnomah  at  her  lodge,  and  if  so,  what  he  would 
say.  He  felt  that  he  was  doing  wrong,  yet  so  sweet 
was  it  to  be  in  her  presence,  so  much  did  her  beauty 
fill  the  mighty  craving  of  his  nature,  that  it  was  not 
possible  for  him  to  tear  himself  away. 

Some  fifteen  minutes'  walk  brought  them  to  Wallu- 
lah's  lodge.  It  was  a  large  building,  made  of  bark 
set  upright  against  a  frame-work  of  poles,  and  roofed 
with  cedar  boards,  —  in  its  external  appearance  like 
all  Willamette  lodges.  Several  Indian  girls,  neatly 
dressed  and  of  more  than  ordinary  intelligence,  were 
busied  in  various  employments  about  the  yard.  They 
looked  in  surprise  at  the  white  man  and  their  mis 
tress,  but  said  nothing.  The  two  entered  the  lodge. 
Cecil  muttered  an  exclamation  of  amazement  as  he 
crossed  the  threshold. 

The  interior  was  a  glow  of  color,  a  bower  of  rich 
ness.  Silken  tapestries  draped  and  concealed  the 
bark  walls ;  the  floor  of  trodden  earth  was  covered 
with  a  superbly  figured  carpet.  It  was  like  the  hall  of 
some  Asiatic  palace.  Cecil  looked  at  Wallulah,  and 
her  eyes  sparkled  with  merriment  at  his  bewildered 
expression.  "I  knew  you  would  be  astonished,"  she 
cried.  "  Is  not  this  as  fair  as  anything  in  your  own 
land  ?  No,  wait  till  I  show  you  another  room  ! " 

She  led  the  way  to  an  inner  apartment,  drew  back 
the  tapestry  that  hung  over  the  doorway,  and  bade 
him  enter. 

Never,  not  even  at  St.  James  or  at  Versailles,  had 
he  seen  such  magnificence.  The  rich  many-hued 
products  of  Oriental  looms  covered  the  rough  walls ; 
the  carpet  was  like  a  cushion ;  mirrors  sparkling  with 


184  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

gems  reflected  his  figure ;  luxurious  divans  invited  to 
repose.  Everywhere  his  eye  met  graceful  draperies 
and  artistically  blended  colors.  Silk  and  gold  com 
bined  to  make  up  a  scene  that  was  like  a  dream  cf 
fable.  Cecil's  dazzled  eyes  wandered  over  all  this 
splendor,  then  came  back  to  Wallulah's  face  again. 

"  I  have  seen  nothing  like  this  in  my  own  land,  not 
even  in  the  King's  palace.  How  came  such  beautiful 
things  here  among  the  Indians?  " 

"  They  were  saved  from  the  vessel  that  was  wrecked. 
They  were  my  mother's,  and  she  had  them  arranged 
thus.  This  was  her  lodge.  It  is  mine  now.  I  have 
never  entered  any  other.  I  have  never  been  inside 
an  Indian  wigwam.  My  mother  forbade  it,  for  fear 
that  I  might  grow  like  the  savage  occupants." 

Cecil  knew  now  how  she  had  preserved  her  grace 
and  refinement  amid  her  fierce  and  squalid  surround 
ings.  Again  her  face  changed  and  the  wistful  look 
came  back.  Her  wild  delicate  nature  seemed  to 
change  every  moment,  to  break  out  in  a  hundred 
varying  impulses. 

"  I  love  beautiful  things,"  she  said,  drawing  a  fold 
of  tapestry  against  her  cheek.  ''They  seem  half 
human.  I  love  to  be  among  them  and  feel  their 
influence.  These  were  my  mother's,  and  it  seems 
as  if  part  of  her  life  was  in  them.  Sometimes,  after 
she  died,  I  used  to  shut  my  eyes  and  put  my  cheek 
against  the  soft  hangings  and  try  to  think  it  was  the 
touch  of  her  hand ;  or  I  would  read  from  her  favor 
ite  poets  and  try  to  think  that  I  heard  her  repeating 
them  to  me  again  !  " 

"Read  !"  exclaimed  Cecil ;  "then you  have  books?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  will  show  you  all  my  treasures." 


A   DEAD  QUEEN'S  JEWELS.  185 

She  went  into  another  apartment  and  returned 
with  a  velvet  case  and  a  richly  enchased  casket. 
She  opened  the  case  and  took  out  several  rolls  of 
parchment. 

"  Here  they  are,  my  dear  old  friends,  that  have 
told  me  so  many  beautiful  things." 

Cecil  unrolled  them  with  a  scholar's  tenderness. 
Their  touch  thrilled  him  ;  it  was  touching  again  some 
familiar  hand  parted  from  years  ago.  The  parch 
ments  were  covered  with  strange  characters,  in  a  lan 
guage  entirely  unknown  to  him.  The  initial  letters 
were  splendidly  illuminated,  the  margins  ornamented 
with  elaborate  designs.  Cecil  gazed  on  the  scrolls, 
as  one  who  loves  music  but  who  is  ignorant  of  its 
technicalities  might  look  at  a  sonata  of  Beethoven  or 
an  opera  of  Wagner,  and  be  moved  by  its  suggested 
melodies. 

"  I  cannot  read  it,"  he  said  a  little  sadly. 

"  Sometime  I  will  teach  you,"  she  replied ;  "  and 
you  shall  teach  me  your  own  language,  and  we  will 
talk  in  it  instead  of  this  wretched  Indian  tongue." 

"Tell  me  something  about  it  now,"  asked  Cecil, 
still  gazing  at  the  unknown  lines. 

"  Not  now,  there  is  so  much  else  to  talk  about ; 
but  I  will  to-morrow." 

To-morrow  !  The  word  pierced  him  like  a  knife. 
For  him,  a  missionary  among  barbarians,  for  her,  the 
betrothed  of  a  savage  chief,  the  morrow  could  bring 
only  parting  and  woe ;  the  sweet,  fleeting  present 
was  all  they  could  hope  for.  For  them  there  could 
be  no  to-morrow.  Wallulah,  however,  did  not  observe 
his  dejection.  She  had  opened  the  casket,  and 
now  placed  it  between  them  as  they  sat  together  on 


l86  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS, 

the  divan.  One  by  one,  she  took  out  the  contents 
and  displayed  them.  A  magnificent  necklace  of  dia 
monds,  another  of  pearls ;  rings,  brooches,  jewelled 
bracelets,  flashed  their  splendor  on  him.  Totally 
ignorant  of  their  great  value,  she  showed  them  only 
with  a  true  woman's  love  of  beautiful  things,  showed 
them  as  artlessly  as  if  they  were  but  pretty  shells  or 
flowers. 

"Are  they  not  bright?"  she  would  say,  holding 
them  up  to  catch  the  light.  "  How  they  sparkle  !  " 

One  she  took  up  a  little  reluctantly.  It  was  an 
opal,  a  very  fine  one.  She  held  it  out,  turning  it  in 
the  light,  so  that  he  might  see  the  splendid  jewel 
glow  and  pale. 

"Is  it  not  lovely?"  she  said;  "like  sun-tints  on 
the  snow.  But  my  mother  said  that  in  her  land  it  is 
called  the  stone  of  misfortune.  It  is  beautiful,  but  it 
brings  trouble  with  it." 

He  saw  her  fingers  tremble  nervously  as  they  held 
it,  and  she  dropped  it  from  them  hurriedly  into  the 
casket,  as  if  it  were  some  bright  poisonous  thing  she 
dreaded  to  touch. 

After  a  while,  when  Cecil  had  sufficiently  admired 
the  stones,  she  put  them  back  into  the  casket  and 
took  it  and  the  parchments  away.  She  came  back 
with  her  flute,  and  seating  herself,  looked  at  him 
closely. 

"  You  are  sad ;  there  are  heavy  thoughts  on  your 
mind.  How  is  that?  He  who  brings  me  sunshine 
must  not  carry  a  shadow  on  his  own  brow.  Why  are 
you  troubled?" 

The  trouble  was  that  he  realized  now,  and  was 
compelled  to  acknowledge  to  himself,  that  he  loved 


A  DEAD  QUEEN'S  JEWELS.  187 

this  gentle,  clinging  girl,  with  a  passionate  love ;  that 
he  yearned  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  shelter  her 
from  the  terrible  savagery  before  her ;  and  that  he 
felt  it  could  not,  must  not  be. 

"  It  is  but  little,"  he  replied.  "  Every  heart  has 
its  burden,  and  perhaps  I  have  mine.  It  is  the  lot 
of  man." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  vague  uneasiness ;  her 
susceptible  nature  responded  dimly  to  the  tumultuous 
emotions  that  he  was  trying  by  force  of  will  to  shut 
up  in  his  own  heart. 

"  Trouble  ?  Oh,  do  I  not  know  how  bitter  it  is  ! 
Tell  me,  what  do  your  people  do  when  they  have 
trouble  ?  Do  they  cut  off  their  hair  and  blacken  their 
faces,  as  the  Indians  do,  when  they  lose  one  they  love  ?  " 

"  No,  they  would  scorn  to  do  anything  so  degrad 
ing.  He  is  counted  bravest  who  makes  the  least 
display  of  grief  and  yet  always  cherishes  a  tender 
remembrance  of  the  dead." 

"  So  would  I.  My  mother  forbade  me  to  cut  off 
my  hair  or  blacken  my  face  when  she  died,  and  so  I 
did  not,  though  some  of  the  Indians  thought  me 
bad  for  not  doing  so.  And  your  people  are  not 
afraid  to  talk  of  the  dead?" 

"  Most  certainly  not.  Why  should  we  be  ?  We 
know  that  they  are  in  a  better  world,  and  their  mem 
ories  are  dear  to  us.  It  is  very  sweet  sometimes  to 
talk  of  them." 

"  But  the  Willamettes  never  talk  of  their  dead,  for 
fear  they  may  hear  their  names  spoken  and  come 
back.  Why  should  they  dread  their  coming  back  ? 
Ah,  if  my  mother  only  would  come  back  !  How  I 
used  to  long  and  pray  for  it ! " 


1 88      THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

Cecil  began  to  talk  to  her  about  the  love  and 
goodness  of  God.  If  he  could  only  see  her  sheltered 
in  the  Divine  compassion,  he  could  trust  her  to  slip 
from  him  into  the  unknown  darkness  of  her  future. 
She  listened  earnestly. 

"Your  words  are  good,"  she  said  in  her  quaint 
phraseology ;  "  and  if  trouble  comes  to  me  again  I 
shall  remember  them.  But  I  am  very  happy  now." 

The  warmth  and  thankfulness  of  her  glance  sent 
through  him  a  great  thrill  of  blended  joy  and  pain. 

"  You  forget,"  he  said,  forcing  himself  to  be  calm, 
"  that  you  are  soon  to  leave  your  home  and  become 
the  wife  of  Snoqualmie." 

Wallulah  raised  her  hand  as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow, 
her  features  quivering  with  pain.  She  tried  to  reply, 
but  for  an  instant  the  words  faltered  on  her  lips. 
He  saw  it,  and  a  fierce  delight  leaped  up  in  his  heart. 
"  She  does  not  love  him,  it  is  I  whom  she  cares  for," 
he  thought ;  and  then  he  thrust  the  thought  down  in 
indignant  self-reproach. 

"  I  do  not  care  for  Snoqualmie ;  I  once  thought  I 
did,  but  —  " 

She  hesitated,  the  quick  color  flushed  her  face  ;  for 
the  first  time  she  seemed  in  part,  though  not  alto 
gether,  aware  of  why  she  had  changed. 

For  an  instant  Cecil  felt  as  if  he  must  speak ;  but 
the  consequences  rose  before  him  while  the  words 
were  almost  on  his  lips.  If  he  spoke  and  won  her 
love,  Multnomah  would  force  her  into  a  marriage  with 
Snoqualmie  just  the  same ;  and  if  the  iron  despot 
were  to  consent  and  give  her  to  Cecil,  the  result  would 
be  a  bloody  war  with  Snoqualmie. 

"  I  cannot,  I  must  not,"  thought  Cecil.     He  rose 


A   DEAD   QUEEN'S  JEWELS.  189 

to  his  feet ;  his  one  impulse  was  to  get  away,  to  fight 
out  the  battle  with  himself.  Wallulah  grew  pale. 

"  You  are  going ?"  she  said,  rising  also.  "Some 
thing  in  your  face  tells  me  you  are  not  coming  back," 
and  she  looked  at  him  with  strained,  sad,  wistful 
eyes. 

He  stood  hesitating,  torn  by  conflicting  emotions, 
not  knowing  what  to  do. 

"  If  you  do  not  come  back,  I  shall  die,"  she  said 
simply. 

As  they  stood  thus,  her  flute  slipped  from  her  re 
laxed  fingers  and  fell  upon  the  floor.  He  picked  it 
up  and  gave  it  to  her,  partly  through  the  born  instinct 
of  the  gentleman,  which  no  familiarity  with  barbarism 
can  entirely  crush  out,  partly  through  the  tendency  in 
time  of  intense  mental  strain  to  relieve  the  mind  by 
doing  any  little  thing. 

She  took  it,  lifted  it  to  her  lips,  and,  still  looking  at 
him,  began  to  play.  The  melody,  strange,  untaught, 
artless  as  the  song  of  a  wood-bird,  was  infinitely  sor 
rowful  and  full  of  longing.  Her  very  life  seemed  to 
breathe  through  the  music  in  fathomless  yearning. 
Cecil  understood  the  plea,  and  the  tears  rushed  un 
bidden  into  his  eyes.  All  his  heart  went  out  to  her  in 
pitying  tenderness  and  love;  and  yet  he  dared  not 
trust  himself  to  speak. 

"  Promise  to  come  back,"  said  the  music,  while  her 
dark  eyes  met  his ;  "  promise  to  come  back.  You  are 
my  one  friend,  my  light,  my  all ;  do  not  leave  me  to 
perish  in  the  dark.  I  shall  die  without  you,  I  shall 
die,  I  shall  die  !  " 

Could  any  man  resist  the  appeal?  Could  Cecil,  of 
all  men,  thrilling  through  all  his  sensitive  and  ardent 


THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE   GODS. 

nature  to  the  music,  thrilling  still  more  to  a  mighty 
and  resistless  love? 

"  I  will  come  back,"  he  said,  and  parted  from  her; 
he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  say  another  word.  But 
the  parting  was  not  so  abrupt  as  to  prevent  his  seeing 
the  swift  breaking- forth  of  light  upon  the  melancholy 
face  that  was  becoming  so  beautiful  to  him  and  so 
dear. 


THE    TWILIGHT  TALE.  191 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE   TWILIGHT   TALE. 

That  eve  I  spoke  those  words  again, 
And  then  she  hearkened  what  I  said. 

DANTE  ROSSETTI. 

'"THE  next  day  the  Indians  had  a  great  hunt.  A 
circle  of  men  on  foot  and  on  horseback  was 
drawn  around  a  large  tract  of  forest  on  the  western 
side  of  the  Willamette  River.  Gradually,  with  much 
shouting,  hallooing,  and  beating  of  bushes,  the  circle 
closed  upon  the  game  within  it,  like  the  folds  of  a 
mighty  serpent. 

There  was  a  prodigious  slaughter,  a  mad  scene  of 
butchery,  in  which  the  Indians  exulted  like  fiends. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  they  returned  to  camp,  stained 
with  blood  and  loaded  with  the  spoils  of  the  chase. 
Snoqualmie  distinguished  himself  by  killing  a  large 
bear,  and  its  claws,  newly  severed  and  bleeding, 
were  added  to  his  already  ample  necklace  of  similar 
trophies. 

Cecil  remained  in  the  almost  deserted  camp.  He 
tried  in  vain  to  talk  with  the  few  chiefs  who  had  not 
gone  out  to  join  in  the  hunt.  Missionary  work  was 
utterly  impossible  that  day.  Wallulah  and  the  prob 
lem  of  his  love  filled  his  thoughts.  His  mind,  aroused 
and  burning,  searched  and  analyzed  the  question 
upon  every  side. 


192  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

Should:  he  tell  Multnomah  of  Snoqualmie's  cruelty, 
representing  his  unfitness  to  be  the  husband  of  the 
gentle  Wallulah? 

To  the  stern  war-chief  that  very  cruelty  would  be 
an  argument  in  Snoqualmie's  favor.  Should  he  him 
self  become  a  suitor  for  her  hand?  He  knew  full 
well  that  Multnomah  would  reject  him  with  disdain ; 
or,  were  he  to  consent,  it  would  involve  the  Willa- 
mettes  in  a  war  with  the  haughty  and  vindictive  Cayuse. 
Finally,  should  he  attempt  to  fly  with  her  to  some 
other  land  ?  Impossible.  All  the  tribes  of  the  north 
west  were  held  in  the  iron  grip  of  Multnomah.  They 
could  never  escape ;  and  even  if  they  could,  the  good 
he  had  done  among  the  Indians,  the  good  he  hoped 
would  grow  from  generation  to  generation,  would  be 
all  destroyed  if  it  were  told  among  them  that  he  who 
claimed  to  come  to  them  with  a  message  from  God 
had  ended  by  stealing  the  chiefs  daughter.  And  had 
he  a  right  to  love  any  one  ?  —  had  he  a  right  to  love 
at  all  ?  God  had  sent  him  to  do  a  work  among  the 
Indians;  was  it  not  wicked  for  him  to  so  much  as 
look  either  to  the  right  or  to  the  left  till  that  work 
was  done? 

Amid  this  maze  of  perplexities,  his  tense,  agonized 
soul  sought  in  vain  for  some  solution,  some  conclusion. 
At  times  he  sat  in  his  lodge  and  brooded  over  these 
things  till  he  seemed  wrought  up  almost  to  madness, 
till  his  form  trembled  with  excitement,  and  the  old 
pain  at  his  heart  grew  sharp  and  deadly. 

Then  again,  trying  to  shake  it  off,  he  went  out 
among  the  few  Indians  who  were  left  in  the  camp  and 
attempted  to  do  missionary  work;  but  enthusiasm 
was  lacking,  the  glow  and  tenderness  was  gone  from 


THE    TWILIGHT  TALE.  193 

his  words,  the  grand  devotion  that  had  inspired  him 
so  long  failed  him  at  last.  He  was  no  longer  a  saintly 
apostle  to  the  Indians ;  he  was  only  a  human  lover, 
torn  by  stormy  human  doubts  and  fears. 

Even  the  Indians  felt  that  some  intangible  change 
had  come  over  him,  and  as  they  listened  their  hearts 
no  longer  responded  to  his  eloquence  j  they  felt  some 
how  that  the  life  was  gone  from  his  words.  He  saw 
it  too,  and  it  gave  him  a  keen  pang. 

He  realized  that  the  energy  and  concentration  of 
his  character  was  gone,  that  a  girl's  beauty  had  drawn 
him  aside  from  the  mission  on  which  God  had 
sent  him. 

"  I  will  go  and  see  her.  I  will,  without  letting  her 
know  that  I  love  her,  give  her  to  understand  my 
position  and  her  own.  She  shall  see  how  impossible 
it  is  for  us  ever  to  be  aught  to  each  other.  And  I 
shall  urge  her  to  cling  to  God  and  walk  in  the  path 
he  has  appointed  for  her,  while  I  go  on  in  mine." 

So  thinking,  he  left  his  lodge  that  evening  and 
took  the  path  to  Wallulah's  home. 

Some  distance  from  the  encampment  he  met  an 
Indian  funeral  procession.  The  young  Willamette 
runner  had  died  that  morning,  and  now  they  were 
bearing  him  to  the  river,  down  which  a  canoe  was  to 
waft  the  body  and  the  mourners  to  the  nearest  mim- 
aluse  island.  The  corpse  was  swathed  in  skins  and 
tied  around  with  thongs ;  the  father  bore  it  on  his 
shoulder,  for  the  dead  had  been  but  a  slender  lad. 
Behind  them  came  the  mother  and  a  few  Indian 
women.  As  they  passed,  the  father  chanted  a  rude 
lament. 

"  Oh,  Mox-mox,  my  son,  why  did  you  go  away  and 
13 


194  THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE   GODS. 

leave  our  wigwam  empty?  You  were  not  weak  nor 
sickly,  and  your  life  was  young.  Why  did  you  go? 
Oh,  Mox-mox,  dead,  dead,  dead  !  " 

Then  the  women  took  up  the  doleful  refrain,  — 

"  Oh,  Mox-mox,  dead,  dead,  dead  !  " 

Then  the  old  man  again,  — 

"  Oh,  Mox-mox,  the  sun  was  warm  and  food  was 
plenty,  yet  you  went  away ;  and  when  we  reach  out 
for  you,  you  are  not  there.  Oh  Mox-mox,  dead, 
dead,  dead!" 

Then  the  women  again,  — 

"  Oh,  Mox-mox,  dead,  dead,  dead  !  " 

And  so  it  went  on,  till  they  were  embarked  and  the 
canoe  bore  them  from  sight  and  hearing.  Down  on 
some  mimaliise  island  or  rocky  point,  they  would 
stretch  the  corpse  out  in  a  canoe,  with  the  bow  and 
arrows  and  fishing  spear  used  in  life  beside  it ;  then 
turn  over  it  another  canoe  like  a  cover,  and  so  leave 
the  dead  to  his  long  sleep. 

The  sight  gave  an  added  bitterness  to  Cecil's 
meditations. 

"  After  all,"  he  thought,  "  life  is  so  short,  —  a  shadow 
fleeting  onward  to  the  night,  —  and  love  is  so  sweet  \ 
Why  not  open  my  heart  to  the  bliss  it  brings?  The 
black  ending  comes  so  soon !  Why  not  fling  all 
thought  of  consequences  to  the  winds,  and  gather  into 
my  arms  the  love  that  is  offered  me  ?  why  not  know 
its  warmth  and  thrill  for  one  golden  moment,  even 
though  that  moment  ends  in  death?" 

The  blood  rushed  wildly  through  his  veins,  but  he 
resolutely  put  down  the  temptation.  No,  he  would 
be  faithful,  he  would  not  allow  himself  even  to  think 
of  such  a  thing. 


THE    TWILIGHT  TALE.  195 

Reluctantly,  as  before,  the  sentinels  made  way  for 
him,  and  he  went  on  through  the  wood  to  the  trysting- 
place,  for  such  it  had  come  to  be.  She  was  wait 
ing.  But  there  was  no  longer  the  glad  illumination 
of  face,  the  glad  springing  forward  to  meet  him.  She 
advanced  shyly,  a  delicate  color  in  her  cheek,  a  trem 
ulous  grace  in  her  manner,  that  he  had  not  observed 
before;  the  consciousness  of  love  had  come  to  her 
and  made  her  a  woman.  Never  had  she  seemed  so 
fair  to  Cecil ;  yet  his  resolution  did  not  falter. 

"  I  have  come,  you  see,  —  come  to  tell  you  that  I 
can  come  no  more,  and  to  talk  with  you  about  your 
future." 

Her  face  grew  very  pale. 

"Are  you  going  away?"  she  asked  sorrowfully, 
"and  shall  I  never  see  you  again?" 

"I  cannot  come  back,"  he  replied  gently.  The 
sight  of  her  suffering  cut  him  to  the  heart. 

"  It  has  been  much  to  see  you,"  he  continued, 
while  she  stood  before  him,  looking  downward,  with 
out  reply.  "  It  has  been  like  meeting  one  of  my  own 
people.  I  shall  never  forget  you." 

She  raised  her  head  and  strove  to  answer,  but  the 
words  died  on  her  lips.  How  he  loathed  himself, 
talking  so  smoothly  to  her  while  he  hungered  to  take 
her  in  his  arms  and  tell  her  how  he  loved  her  ! 

Again  he  spoke. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  happy  with  Snoqualmie, 
and  —  " 

She  lifted  her  eyes  with  a  sudden  light  flashing  in 
their  black  depths. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  hate  him  ?  Never  speak  his 
name  to  me  again  !  " 


196  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   CODS. 

"  He  is  to  be  your  husband ;  nay,  it  is  the  wish  of 
your  father,  and  the  great  sachems  approve  it." 

"  Can  the  sachems  put  love  in  my  heart  ?  Can 
the  sachems  make  my  heart  receive  him  as  its  lord  ? 
Ah,  this  bitter  custom  of  the  father  giving  his  daughter 
to  whomsoever  he  will,  as  if  she  were  a  dog  !  And 
your  lips  sanction  it !  " 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  Scarcely  realizing 
what  he  did,  he  tried  to  take  her  hand.  The  slender 
fingers  shrank  from  his  and  were  drawn  away. 

"  I  do  not  sanction  it,  it  is  a  bitter  custom ;  but  it 
is  to  be,  and  I  only  wished  to  smooth  your  pathway. 
I  want  to  say  or  do  something  that  will  help  you 
when  I  am  gone." 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  would  be  for  me  to  be  an 
Indian's  wife?  To  cut  the  wood,  and  carry  the 
water,  and  prepare  the  food,  —  that  would  be  sweet 
to  do  for  one  I  loved.  But  to  toil  amid  dirt  and 
filth  for  a  savage  whom  I  could  only  abhor,  to  feel 
myself  growing  coarse  and  squalid  with  my  surround 
ings,  —  I  could  not  live  !  " 

She  shuddered  as  she  spoke,  as  if  the  very  thought 
was  horrible. 

"You  hate  this  degraded  Indian  life  as  much  as 
I  do,  and  yet  it  is  the  life  you  would  push  me  into," 
she  continued,  in  a  tone  of  mournful  heart-broken 
reproach.  It  stung  him  keenly. 

"  It  is  not  the  life  I  would  push  you  into.  God 
knows  I  would  give  my  life  to  take  one  thorn  from 
yours."  The  mad  longing  within  him  rushed  into 
his  voice  in  spite  of  himself,  making  it  thrill  with  a 
passionate  tenderness  that  brought  the  color  back 
into  her  pallid  cheek.  "But  I  cannot  remain,"  he 


THE   TWILIGHT  TALE.  197 

went  on,  "  I  dare  not ;  all  that  I  can  do  is  to  say 
something  that  may  help  you  in  the  future." 

She  looked  at  him  with  dilated  eyes  full  of  pain  and 
bewilderment. 

"  I  have  no  future  if  you  go  away.  Why  must 
you  go?  What  will  be  left  me  after  you  are  gone? 
Think  how  long  I  was  here  alone  after  my  mother 
died,  with  no  one  to  understand  me,  no  one  to 
talk  to.  Then  you  came,  and  I  was  happy.  It  was 
like  light  shining  in  the  darkness ;  now  it  goes  out 
and  I  can  never  hope  again.  Why  must  you  go  away 
and  leave  Wallulah  in  the  dark?  " 

There  was  a  childlike  plaintiveness  and  simplicity 
in  her  tone ;  and  she  came  close  to  him,  looking  up 
in  his  face  with  wistful,  pleading  eyes,  the  beautiful 
face  wan  and  drawn  with  bewilderment  and  pain,  yet 
never  so  beautiful  as  now. 

Cecil  felt  the  unspeakable  cruelty  of  his  attitude 
toward  her,  and  his  face  grew  white  as  death  in  an 
awful  struggle  between  love  and  duty.  But  he  felt 
that  he  must  leave  her  or  be  disloyal  to  his  God. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  go  away.  But  God  has  called 
me  to  a  great  work,  and  I  must  do  it.  I  dare  not 
turn  aside.  You  cannot  know  how  dear  your  pres 
ence  is  to  me,  or  how  bitter  it  is  for  me  to  part  from 
you.  But  our  parting  must  be,  else  the  work  I  have 
done  among  the  tribes  will  be  scattered  to  the  winds 
and  the  curse  of  God  will  be  on  me  as  a  false  and 
fallen  prophet." 

He  spoke  with  a  kind  of  fierceness,  striving  blindly 
to  battle  down  the  mad  longing  within,  and  his  tones 
had  a  harshness  that  he  was  too  agitated  to  notice. 
She  drew  back  involuntarily.  There  came  into  her 


198  THE  BRIDGE   OF   THE   GODS. 

face  a  dignity  he  had  never  seen  before.  She  was 
but  a  recluse  and  a  girl,  but  she  was  of  royal  lineage 
by  right  of  both  her  parents,  and  his  words  had  roused 
a  spirit  worthy  the  daughter  of  Multnomah. 

"Am  I  a  weight  on  you?  Are  you  afraid  I  will 
bring  a  curse  upon  you?  Do  not  fear,  I  shall  no 
longer  ask  you  to  stay.  Wallulah  shall  take  herself 
out  of  your  life." 

She  gave  him  a  look  full  of  despair,  as  if  seeing  all 
hope  go  from  her  forever;  then  she  said  simply, 
"  Farewell,"  and  turned  away. 

But  in  spite  of  her  dignity  there  was  an  anguish 
written  on  her  sweet  pale  face  that  he  could  not 
resist.  All  his  strength  of  resolve,  all  his  conviction 
of  duty,  crumbled  into  dust  as  she  turned  away ;  and 
he  was  conscious  only  that  he  loved  her,  that  he 
could  not  let  her  go. 

How  it  happened  he  never  knew,  but  she  was 
clasped  in  his  arms,  his  kisses  were  falling  on  brow 
and  cheek  in  a  passionate  outburst  that  could  be 
kept  back  no  longer.  At  first,  she  trembled  in  his 
arms  and  shrank  away  from  him ;  then  she  nestled 
close,  as  if  sheltering  herself  in  the  love  that  was 
hers  at  last.  After  awhile  she  lifted  a  face  over 
which  a  shadow  of  pain  yet  lingered. 

"  But  you  said  I  would  bring  you  a  curse ;  you 
feared  —  " 

He  stopped  her  with  a  caress. 

"  Even  curses  would  be  sweet  if  they  came  through 
you.  Forget  what  I  said,  remember  only  that  I  love 
you  !  " 

And  she  was  content. 

Around  them  the  twilight  darkened  into  night ;  the 


THE    TWILIGHT  TALE.  199 

hours  came  and  went  unheeded  by  these  two,  wrapped 
in  that  golden  love-dream  which  for  a  moment  brings 
Eden  back  again  to  this  gray  old  earth,  all  desolate  as 
it  is  with  centuries  of  woe  and  tears. 

But  while  they  talked  there  was  on  him  a  vague 
dread,  an  indefinable  misgiving,  a  feeling  that  he  was 
disloyal  to  his  mission,  disloyal  to  her ;  that  their  love 
could  have  but  one  ending,  and  that  a  dark  one. 

Still  he  strove  hard  to  forget  everything,  to  shut  out 
all  the  world,  —  drinking  to  the  full  the  bliss  of  the 
present,  blinding  his  eyes  to  the  pain  of  the  future. 

But  after  they  parted,  when  her  presence  was  with 
drawn  and  he  was  alone,  he  felt  like  a  man  faithless 
and  dishonored ;  like  a  prophet  who  had  bartered  the 
salvation  of  the  people  to  whom  he  had  been  sent,  in 
exchange  for  a  woman's  kisses,  which  could  bring  him 
only  disgrace  and  death. 

As  he  went  back  to  the  camp  in  the  stillness  of 
midnight,  he  was  startled  by  a  distant  roar,  and  saw 
through  the  tree-tops  flames  bursting  from  the  far-off 
crater  of  Mount  Hood.  The  volcano  was  beginning 
one  of  its  periodical  outbursts.  But  to  Cecil's  mind, 
imbued  with  the  gloomy  supernaturalism  of  early  New 
England,  and  unconsciously  to  himself,  tinged  in  later 
years  with  the  superstition  of  the  Indians  among  whom 
he  had  lived  so  long,  that  ominous  roar,  those  flames 
leaping  up  into  the  black  skies  of  night,  seemed  a 
sign  of  the  wrath  of  God. 


200  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ORATOR   AGAINST   ORATOR. 

The  gravity,  fixed  attention,  and  decorum  of  these  sons  of  the  forest 
was  calculated  to  make  for  them  a  most  favorable  impression.  — 
GRAY  :  History  of  Oregon. 

'TTHE  next  day  all  the  Indians  were  gathered  around 
•*•  the  council  grove.  Multnomah  presided,  and 
every  sachem  was  in  his  place. 

There  was  to  be  a  trial  of  eloquence,  —  a  tourney 
of  orators,  to  see  which  tribe  had  the  best.  Only  one, 
the  most  eloquent  of  each  tribe,  was  to  speak ;  and 
Multnomah  was  to  decide  who  was  victor.  The 
mother  of  Wallulah  had  introduced  the  custom,  and 
it  had  become  popular  among  the  Indians. 

Cecil  was  in  his  place  among  the  chiefs,  with  worn 
face  and  abstracted  air ;  Snoqualmie  was  present,  with 
hawk-like  glance  and  imperious  mien ;  there  was  Mish- 
lah,  with  his  sullen  and  brutal  features;  there,  too, 
wrapped  closely  in  his  robe  of  fur,  sat  Tohomish, 
brooding,  gloomy,  —  the  wild  empire's  mightiest  mas 
ter  of  eloquence,  and  yet  the  most  repulsive  figure 
of  them  all. 

The  Indians  were  strangely  quiet  that  morning; 
the  hush  of  a  superstitious  awe  was  upon  them.  The 
smoking  mountains,  Hood  and  Adams  as  the  white 
man  calls  them,  Au-poo-tah  and  Au-ka-ken  in  the 
Indian  tongue,  were  becoming  active  of  late.  The 


ORATOR  AGAINST  ORATOR.  201 

previous  night  flame  had  been  seen  bursting  from  the 
top  of  Mount  Hood  and  thick  black  smoke  still  puffed 
upward  from  it,  and  on  Mount  Adams  rested  a  heavy 
cloud  of  volcanic  vapors.  Were  the  mountains  angry  ? 
Aged  men  told  how  in  the  old  time  there  had  been  a 
terrible  outburst  of  flame  and  ashes  from  Mount  Hood ; 
a  rain  of  fire  and  stones  had  fallen  over  all  the  Wil 
lamette  valley;  the  very  earth  had  trembled  at  the 
great  mountain's  wrath. 

As  the  lower  animals  feel  in  the  air  the  signs  of  a 
coming  storm,  so  these  savages  felt,  by  some  kindred 
intuition,  that  a  mysterious  convulsion  of  Nature  was 
at  hand.  They  talked  in  low  tones,  they  were  sub 
dued  in  manner ;  any  one  coming  suddenly  upon  them 
would  have  been  impressed  by  the  air  of  uneasiness 
and  apprehension  that  everywhere  prevailed.  But  the 
chiefs  were  stoical,  and  Multnomah  impassive  as  ever. 

Could  it  have  been  that  the  stormy  influences  at 
work  in  Nature  lent  energy  to  the  orators  that  day  ? 
They  were  unusually  animated,  at  least  for  Indians, 
though  a  white  man  would  have  found  them  intoler 
ably  bombastic.  Each  speech  was  a  boastful  eulogy 
of  the  speaker's  tribe,  and  an  exaggerated  account 
of  the  wonderful  exploits  of  its  warriors. 

This  was  rather  dangerous  ground ;  for  all  the 
tribes  had  been  at  enmity  in  days  gone  by,  and  some 
of  their  most  renowned  victories  had  been  won  over 
each  other.  Every  one  took  it  in  good  part,  however, 
except  Mishlah.  When  We-math,  chief  of  the  Kla- 
maths,  recounting  the  exploits  of  his  race,  told  how 
in  ancient  times  they  had  lorded  it  over  the  Mollalies, 
Mishlah  glared  at  him  as  if  tempted  to  leap  upon  him 
and  strike  him  down.  Fortunately  the  orator  passed 


202  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

on  to  other  things,  and  the  wrath  of  the  Mollalie  chief 
gradually  cooled. 

Then  came  Cecil.  It  was  a  grand  opening.  He 
could  speak  of  his  own  people,  of  their  ancient  sav 
agery  and  present  splendor,  and  show  how  the  gos 
pel  of  love  and  justice  had  been  the  cause  of  their 
elevation.  Then  would  come  the  appeal  to  the  In 
dians  to  accept  this  faith  as  their  own  and  share  in 
its  uplifting  power.  It  was  a  magnificent  opportunity, 
the  opportunity  of  a  life-time. 

But  the  mental  conflict  he  had  just  passed  through 
had  rent  his  mind  like  a  volcanic  upheaval.  It  pos 
sessed  no  longer  the  intense  concentration  which  had 
been  the  source  of  its  strength.  Tenderness,  benevo 
lence,  missionary  zeal,  were  still  there,  but  no  longer 
sovereign.  Other  passions  divided  his  heart ;  a  hope 
less  and  burning  love  consumed  his  being. 

He  spoke,  but  the  fire  was  gone  from  his  delivery 
and  the  vividness  from  his  imagination.  His  elo 
quence  was  not  what  it  had  been ;  his  heart  was  no 
longer  in  his  work,  and  his  oration  was  a  failure. 

Even  the  Indians  noticed  that  something  was  lack 
ing  in  his  oratory,  and  it  no  longer  moved  them  as  it 
had  done.  Cecil  realized  it,  and  strove  to  speak  with 
more  energy,  but  in  vain ;  he  could  not  arouse  him 
self ;  and  it  was  with  a  consciousness  of  failure  that  he 
brought  his  speech  to  a  close  and  resumed  his  seat. 

To  a  man  of  his  morbid  conscientiousness  only  one 
conclusion  was  possible. 

"  God  sent  me  to  proclaim  salvation  to  these  chil 
dren  of  darkness,"  he  thought,  "  and  I  have  turned 
aside  to  fill  my  heart  with  a  woman's  love.  His  wrath 
is  on  me.  He  has  taken  his  spirit  from  me.  I  am 


ORATOR  AGAINST  ORATOR.  203 

a  thing  rejected  and  accursed,  and  this  people  will  go 
down  to  death  because  I  have  failed  in  my  mission." 

While  he  sat  absorbed  in  these  bitter,  self-accus 
ing  thoughts,  the  speaking  went  on.  Wau-ca-cus  the 
Klickitat  made  a  strong  "  talk,"  picturesque  in  Indian 
metaphor,  full  of  energy.  But  the  chief  that  followed 
surpassed  him.  Orator  caught  fire  from  orator; 
thoughts  not  unworthy  a  civilized  audience  were 
struck  out  by  the  intensity  of  the  emulation ;  speak 
ers  rose  to  heights  which  they  had  never  reached  be 
fore,  which  they  were  destined  never  to  reach  again. 
In  listening  to  and  admiring  their  champions,  the 
tribes  forgot  the  smoking  mountains  and  the  feeling 
of  apprehension  that  had  oppressed  them.  At  length 
Snoqualmie  made  a  speech  breathing  his  own  daring 
spirit  in  every  word.  It  went  immeasurably  beyond 
the  others  ;  it  was  the  climax  of  all  the  darkly  splendid 
eloquence  of  the  day. 

No,  not  of  all.  From  his  place  among  the  chiefs 
rose  a  small  and  emaciated  figure ;  the  blanket  that 
had  muffled  his  face  was  thrown  aside,  and  the  tribes 
looked  on  the  mis-shapen  and  degraded  features  of 
Tohomish  the  Pine  Voice.  He  stood  silent  at  first, 
his  eyes  bent  on  the  ground,  like  a  man  in  a  trance. 
For  a  moment  the  spectators  forgot  the  wonderful 
eloquence  of  the  man  in  his  ignoble  appearance. 
What  could  he  do  against  Wau-ca-cus  the  Klickitat 
and  Snoqualmie  the  Cayuse,  whose  sonorous  utter 
ances  still  rang  in  their  ears,  whose  majestic  presence 
still  filled  their  minds  ! 

"  The  Willamettes  are  beaten  at  last,  —  the  Willa 
mette  speakers  can  no  more  be  called  the  best,"  was 
the  one  exultant  thought  of  the  allies,  and  the  Willa- 


204  THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE   GODS. 

mettes  trembled  for  the  fame  of  their  orators.  Back 
in  the  shadow  of  the  cottonwoods,  an  old  Willamette 
warrior  put  an  arrow  on  the  string  and  bent  his  bow 
unseen  on  Tohomish. 

"  He  cannot  beat  them,  and  it  shall  never  be  said 
that  Tohomish  failed,"  he  muttered.  At  that  moment, 
even  as  death  hung  over  him,  the  orator's  voice  was 
heard  beginning  his  "  talk ;  "  and  the  warrior's  hand 
fell,  the  bent  bow  was  relaxed,  the  arrow  dropped 
from  the  string.  For  with  the  first  accents  of  that  soft 
and  lingering  voice  the  tribes  were  thrilled  as  with  the 
beginning  of  music. 

The  orator's  head  was  still  bent  down,  his  manner 
abstracted  ;  he  spoke  of  the  legends  and  the  glories  of 
the  Willamette  tribe,  but  spoke  of  them  as  if  that  tribe 
belonged  to  the  past,  as  if  it  had  perished  from  the 
earth,  and  he  was  telling  the  tale  of  a  great  dead  race. 
His  tones  were  melodious  but  indescribably  mournful. 
When  at  length  he  lifted  his  face,  his  eyes  shone  with 
a  misty  light,  and  his  brutal  features  were  illuminated 
with  a  weird  enthusiasm.  A  shudder  went  through 
the  vast  and  motley  assembly.  No  boastful  rant  was 
this,  but  a  majestic  story  of  the  past,  the  story  of  a 
nation  gone  forever.  It  was  the  death-song  of  the 
Willamettes,  solemnly  rendered  by  the  last  and  greatest 
orator  of  the  race. 

At  length  he  spoke  of  Multnomah  and  of  the  power 
of  the  confederacy  in  his  time,  but  spoke  of  it  as  of  old 
time,  seen  dimly  through  the  lapse  of  years.  Then, 
when  as  it  seemed  he  was  about  to  go  on  and  tell  how 
this  power  came  to  fall,  he  hesitated ;  the  words  fal 
tered  on  his  lips;  he  suddenly  broke  off,  took  his 
seat,  and  drew  his  robe  again  over  his  face. 


ORATOR  AGAINST  ORATOR.  205 

The  effect  was  indescribable.  The  portentous  na 
ture  of  the  whole  speech  needed  only  that  last  touch 
of  mystery.  It  sent  through  every  heart  a  wild  and 
awesome  thrill,  as  at  the  shadow  of  approaching 
destiny. 

The  multitude  were  silent ;  the  spell  of  the  pro 
phet's  lofty  and  mournful  eloquence  still  lingered  over 
them.  Multnomah  rose.  With  him  rested  the  decis 
ion  as  to  who  was  the  greatest  orator.  But  the  proud 
old  war-chief  knew  that  all  felt  that  Tohomish  had  far 
surpassed  his  competitors,  and  he  was  resolved  that 
not  his  lips  but  the  voice  of  the  tribes  should  proclaim 
their  choice. 

"  Multnomah  was  to  decide  who  has  spoken  best, 
but  he  leaves  the  decision  with  you.  You  have  heard 
them  all.  Declare  who  is  the  greatest,  and  your  word 
shall  be  Multnomah's  word." 

There  was  an  instant's  silence ;  then  in  a  murmur 
like  the  rush  of  the  sea  came  back  the  voice  of  the 
multitude. 

"  Tohomish  !  Tohomish  !  he  is  greatest !  " 

"  He  is  greatest,"  said  Multnomah.  But  Tohomish, 
sitting  there  dejectedly,  seemed  neither  to  see  nor 
hear. 

"To-morrow,"  said  the  war-chief,  "while  the  sun 
is  new,  the  chiefs  will  meet  in  council  and  the  great 
talk  shall  be  ended.  And  after  it  ends,  Multnomah's 
daughter  will  be  given  to  Snoqualmie,  and  Multnomah 
will  bestow  a  rich  potlatch  [a  giving  of  gifts]  on  the 
people.  And  then  all  will  be  done." 

The  gathering  broke  up.  Gradually,  as  the  Indians 
gazed  on  the  smoking  mountains,  the  excitement  pro 
duced  by  the  oratory  they  had  just  heard  wore  off. 


206  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

Only  Tohomish's  sombre  eloquence,  so  darkly  in 
unison  with  the  menacing  aspect  of  Nature,  yet  lin 
gered  in  every  mind.  They  were  frightened  and 
startled,  apprehensive  of  something  to  come.  Le 
gends,  superstitious  lore  of  by-gone  time  connected 
with  the  "  smoking  mountains,"  were  repeated  that 
afternoon  wherever  little  groups  of  Indians  had  met 
together.  Through  all  these  gathered  tribes  ran  a 
dread  yet  indefinable  whisper  of  apprehension,  like 
the  first  low  rustle  of  the  leaves  that  foreruns  the 
coming  storm. 

Over  the  valley  Mount  Adams  towered,  wrapped  in 
dusky  cloud ;  and  from  Mount  Hood  streamed  inter 
mittent  bursts  of  smoke  and  gleams  of  fire  that  grew 
plainer  as  the  twilight  fell.  Louder,  as  the  hush  of 
evening  deepened,  came  the  sullen  roar  from  the 
crater  of  Mount  Hood.  Below  the  crater,  the  ice 
fields  that  had  glistened  in  unbroken  whiteness  the 
previous  day  were  now  furrowed  with  wide  black 
streaks,  from  which  the  vapor  of  melting  snow  and 
burning  lava  ascended  in  dense  wreaths.  Men  wiser 
than  these  ignorant  savages  would  have  said  that 
some  terrible  convulsion  was  at  hand. 

Multnomah's  announcement  in  the  council  was  a 
dreadful  blow  to  Cecil,  though  he  had  expected  it.  His 
first  thought  was  of  a  personal  appeal  to  the  chief,  but 
one  glance  at  the  iron  features  of  the  autocrat  told  him 
that  it  would  be  a  hopeless  undertaking.  No  appeal 
could  turn  Multnomah  from  his  purpose.  For  Cecil, 
such  an  undertaking  might  be  death;  it  certainly 
would  be  contemptuous  refusal,  and  would  call  down 
on  Wallulah  the  terrible  wrath  before  which  the 
bravest  sachem  quailed. 


ORATOR  AGAINST  ORATOR.  207 

Cecil  left  the  grove  with  the  other  chiefs  and  found 
his  way  to  his  lodge.  There  he  flung  himself  down 
on  his  face  upon  his  couch  of  furs.  The  Indian 
woman,  his  old  nurse,  who  still  clung  to  him,  was 
absent,  and  for  some  time  he  was  alone.  After  a 
while  the  flap  that  hung  over  the  entrance  was  lifted, 
and  some  one  came  in  with  the  noiseless  tread  of  the 
Indian.  Cecil,  lying  in  a  maze  of  bitter  thought, 
became  aware  of  the  presence  of  another,  and  raised 
his  head.  The  Shoshone  renegade  stood  beside  him. 
His  gaze  rested  compassionately  on  Cecil's  sad,  worn 
face. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  asked.  "Your  words  were  slow 
and  heavy  to-day.  There  was  a  weight  on  your  spirit ; 
what  is  it  ?  You  said  that  we  were  friends,  so  I  came 
to  ask  if  I  could  help." 

"  You  are  good,  and  like  a  brother,"  replied  Cecil, 
gently,  "  but  I  cannot  tell  you  my  trouble.  Yet 
this  much  I  can  tell,  "  —  and  he  sat  upon  the  couch, 
his  whole  frame  trembling  with  excitement.  "  I 
have  sinned  a  grievous  sin,  therefore  the  Great  Spirit 
took  away  the  words  from  my  lips  to-day.  My  heart 
has  become  evil,  and  God  has  punished  me." 

It  was  a  relief  to  his  over- burdened  conscience  to 
say  those  harsh  things  of  himself,  yet  the  relief  was 
bitter.  Over  the  bronzed  face  of  the  Indian  came  an 
expression  of  deep  pity. 

"  The  white  man  tears  himself  with  his  own  claws 
like  a  wounded  beast,  but  it  does  not  give  him  peace. 
Has  he  done  evil  ?  Then  let  him  remember  what  he 
has  so  often  told  the  Indians :  '  Forsake  evil,  turn 
from  sin,  and  the  Great  Spirit  will  forgive.'  Let  my 
white  brother  do  this,  and  it  will  be  well  with  him." 


208  THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE   GODS. 

He  gazed  at  Cecil  an  instant  longer ;  then,  with  a 
forbearance  that  more  civilized  men  do  not  always 
show,  he  left  the  lodge  without  another  word. 

But  what  he  said  had  its  effect.  Through  Cecil's 
veins  leaped  the  impulse  of  a  sudden  resolve,  —  a 
resolve  that  was  both  triumph  and  agony.  He  fell  on 
his  knees  beside  the  couch. 

"  Thou  hast  shown  me  my  duty  by  the  lips  of  the 
Indian,  and  I  will  perform  it.  I  will  tear  this  forbidden 
love  from  my  heart.  Father,  help  me.  Once  before 
I  resolved  to  do  this  and  failed.  Help  me  that  I 
fail  not  now.  Give  me  strength.  Give  me  the 
mastery  over  the  flesh,  O  God  !  Help  me  to  put 
this  temptation  from  me.  Help  me  to  fulfil  my 
mission." 

The  struggle  was  long  and  doubtful,  but  the  victory 
was  won  at  last.  When  Cecil  arose  from  his  knees, 
there  was  the  same  set  and  resolute  look  upon  his 
face  that  was  there  the  morning  he  entered  the  wil 
derness,  leaving  friends  and  home  behind  him  for 
ever,  —  the  look  that  some  martyr  of  old  might  have 
worn,  putting  from  him  the  clinging  arms  of  wife  or 
child,  going  forth  to  the  dungeon  and  the  stake. 

"  It  is  done,"  murmured  the  white  lips.  "  I  have 
put  her  from  me.  My  mission  to  the  Indians  alone 
fills  my  heart.  But  God  help  her  !  God  help  her  ! " 

For  the  hardest  part  of  it  all  was  that  he  sacrificed 
her  as  well  as  himself. 

"  It  must  be,"  he  thought ;  "  I  must  give  her  up.  I 
will  go  now  and  tell  her ;  then  I  will  never  look  upon 
her  face  again.  But  oh  !  what  will  become  of  her?  " 

And  his  long  fingers  were  clinched  as  in  acutest 
pain.  But  his  sensitive  nerves,  his  intense  suscepti- 


ORATOR  AGAINST  ORATOR.  209 

bilities  were  held  in  abeyance  by  a  will  that,  once 
roused,  was  strong  even  unto  death. 

He  went  out.  It  was  dark.  Away  to  the  east  Mount 
Hood  lifted  its  blazing  crater  into  the  heavens  like  a 
gigantic  torch,  and  the  roar  of  the  eruption  came 
deep  and  hoarse  through  the  stillness  of  night.  Once, 
twice,  it  seemed  to  Cecil  that  the  ground  trembled 
slightly  under  his  feet.  The  Indians  were  huddled  in 
groups  watching  the  burning  crest  of  the  volcano. 
As  the  far-off  flickering  light  fell  on  their  faces,  it 
showed  them  to  be  full  of  abject  fear. 

"  It  is  like  the  end  of  the  world,"  thought  Cecil. 
"  Would  that  it  were ;  then  she  and  I  might  die 
together." 

He  left  the  camp  and  took  the  trail  through  the 
wood  to  the  trysting- place ;  for,  late  as  it  was,  he 
knew  that  she  awaited  him. 


210      THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IN   THE    DARK. 

There  is  not  one  upon  life's  weariest  way, 
Who  is  weary  as  I  am  weary  of  all  but  death. 

SWINBURNE. 

'T'HE  grim  sentinels  by  the  pathway,  who  had  been 
•*  so  reluctant  to  let  Cecil  pass  the  day  before,  were 
still  more  reluctant  this  evening.  One  of  them  planted 
himself  in  the  trail  directly  in  front  of  Cecil,  and  did 
not  offer  to  let  him  go  on,  but  stood  sullenly  blocking 
the  way.  Cecil  touched  the  warrior's  arm  and  bade 
him  stand  aside.  For  an  instant  it  seemed  that  he 
would  refuse,  but  his  superstitious  respect  for  the  white 
tomanowos  overcame  his  obstinacy,  —  and  he  stepped 
unwillingly  back. 

But  as  Cecil  went  on  he  felt,  and  felt  rightly,  that 
they  would  not  let  him  pass  again,  —  that  the  last  act, 
be  it  what  it  might,  in  his  love  drama,  was  drawing 
to  a  close. 

A  few  moments'  walk,  and  he  saw  in  the  dark  the 
little  figure  awaiting  him  under  the  trees.  She  came 
slowly  forward  to  meet  him.  He  saw  that  her  face 
was  very  pale,  her  eyes  large  and  full  of  woe.  She 
gave  him  her  hands  ;  they  felt  like  ice.  He  bent  over 
her  and  kissed  her  with  quivering  lips. 

"  Poor  child,"  he  said,  putting  his  arms  around  her 
slender  form  and  drawing  it  close  in  his  embrace, 


IN  THE  DARK.  21 1 

"how  can  I  ever  tell  you  what  I  have  to  tell  you 
to-night !  " 

She  did  not  respond  to  his  caress.  At  length, 
looking  up  in  a  lifeless,  stricken  way,  she  spoke  in  a 
mechanical  voice,  a  voice  that  did  not  sound  like 
her  own,  — 

"  I  know  it  already.  My  father  came  and  told  me 
that  to-morrow  I  must  —  "  She  shuddered  ;  her  voice 
broke ;  then  she  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and 
clung  to  him  passionately.  "  But  they  can  never  tear 
me  away  from  you  ;  never,  never  !  " 

How  could  he  tell  her  that  he  came  to  put  her 
away  from  him,  that  he  came  to  bid  her  farewell? 
He  clasped  her  the  tighter  in  his  arms.  For  an 
instant  his  mind  swept  all  the  chances  of  flight  with 
her,  only  to  realize  their  utter  hopelessness ;  then  he 
remembered  that  even  to  think  of  such  a  thing  was 
treachery  to  the  resolves  he  had  just  made.  He 
shook  from  head  to  foot  with  stormy  emotion. 

She  lifted  her  head  from  his  breast,  where  it  was 
pillowed. 

"  Let  us  get  horses  or  a  canoe,  and  fly  to-night  to 
the  desert  or  the  sea,  —  anywhere,  anywhere,  only  to 
be  away  from  here  !  Let  us  take  the  trail  you  came 
on,  and  find  our  way  to  your  people." 

"Alas,"  replied  Cecil,  "how  could  we  escape? 
Every  tribe,  far  and  near,  is  tributary  to  your  father. 
The  runners  would  rouse  them  as  soon  as  we  were 
missed.  The  swiftest  riders  would  be  on  our  trail ; 
ambuscades  would  lurk  for  us  in  every  thicket ;  we 
could  never  escape ;  and  even  if  we  should,  a  whole 
continent  swarming  with  wild  tribes  lies  between  us 
and  my  land." 


212  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

She  looked  at  him  in  anguish,  with  dim  eyes,  and 
her  arms  slipped  from  around  his  neck. 

"  Do  you  no  longer  love  Wallulah  ?  Something 
tells  me  that  you  would  not  wish  to  fly  with  me,  even 
if  we  could  escape.  There  is  something  you  have  not 
told  me." 

Clasping  her  closely  to  him,  he  told  her  how  he 
felt  it  was  the  will  of  God  that  they  must  part.  God 
had  sent  him  on  a  sacred  mission,  and  he  dared  not 
turn  aside.  Either  her  love  or  the  redemption  of  the 
tribes  of  the  Wauna  must  be  given  up ;  and  for  their 
sake  love  must  be  sacrificed. 

"  To-day  God  took  away  the  words  from  my  lips 
and  the  spirit  from  my  heart.  My  soul  was  lead.  I 
felt  like  one  accursed.  Then  it  came  to  me  that  it 
was  because  I  turned  aside  from  my  mission  to  love 
you.  We  must  part.  Our  ways  diverge.  I  must 
walk  my  own  pathway  alone  wheresoever  it  leads  me. 
God  commands,  and  I  must  obey." 

The  old  rapt  look  came  back,  the  old  set,  deter 
mined  expression  which  showed  that  that  delicate 
organization  could  grow  as  strong  as  granite  in  its 
power  to  endure. 

Wallulah  shrank  away  from  him,  and  strove  to  free 
herself  from  his  embrace. 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  stifled  tone. 
"Oh,  if  I  could  only  die  !  " 

But  he  held  her  close,  almost  crushing  the  delicate 
form  against  his  breast.  She  felt  his  heart  beat  deep 
ly  and  painfully  against  her  own,  and  in  some  way  it 
came  to  her  that  every  throb  was  agony,  that  he  was 
in  the  extremity  of  mental  and  physical  suffering. 

"  God  help  me  ! "  he  said ;  "  how  can  I  give  you  up  ?  " 


IN  THE  DARK,  213 

She  realized  by  woman's  intuition  that  his  whole 
soul  was  wrung  with  pain,  with  an  agony  darker  and 
bitterer  than  her  own ;  and  the  exceeding  greatness 
of  his  suffering  gave  her  strength.  A  sudden  revulsion 
of  feeling  affected  her.  She  looked  up  at  him  with 
infinite  tenderness. 

"  I  wish  I  could  take  all  the  pain  away  from  you 
and  bear  it  myself." 

"  It  is  God's  will;  we  must  submit  to  it." 

"  His  will ! "  Her  voice  was  full  of  rebellion.  "  Why 
does  he  give  us  such  bitter  suffering?  Doesn't  he 
care  ?  I  thought  once  that  God  was  good,  but  it  is  all 
dark  now." 

"  Hush,  you  must  not  think  so.  After  all,  it  will  be 
only  a  little  while  till  we  meet  in  heaven,  and  there 
no  one  can  take  you  from  me." 

"  Heaven  is  so  far  off.  The  present  is  all  that  I 
can  see,  and  it  is  as  black  as  death.  Death  !  it  would 
be  sweet  to  die  now  with  your  arms  around  me  ;  but 
to  live  year  after  year  with  him  !  How  can  I  go  to 
him,  now  that  I  have  known  you  ?  How  can  I  bear 
his  presence,  his  touch?  " 

She  shuddered  there  in  Cecil's  arms.  All  her 
being  shrunk  in  repugnance  at  the  thought  of  Sno- 
qualmie. 

"Thank  God  for  death  !  "  said  Cecil,  brokenly. 

"It  is  so  long  to  wait,"  she  murmured,  "and  I  am 
so  young  and  strong." 

His  kisses  fell  on  cheek  and  brow.  She  drew  down 
his  head  and  put  her  cheek  against  his  and  clung  to 
him  as  if  she  would  never  let  him  go. 

It  was  a  strange  scene,  the  mournful  parting  of  the 
lovers  in  the  gloom  of  the  forest  and  the  night.  To 


214  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

the  east,  through  the  black  net-work  of  leaves  and 
branches,  a  dull  red  glow  marked  the  crater  of  Mount 
Hood,  and  its  intermittent  roar  came  to  them  through 
the  silence.  It  was  a  night  of  mystery  and  horror,  — 
a  fitting  night  for  their  tragedy  of  love  and  woe.  The 
gloom  and  terror  of  their  surroundings  seemed  to 
throw  a  supernatural  shadow  over  their  farewell. 

"The  burning  mountain  is  angry  to-night,"  said 
Wallulah,  at  last.  "  Would  that  it  might  cover  us  up 
with  its  ashes  and  stones,  as  the  Indians  say  it  once 
did  two  lovers  back  in  the  old  time." 

"  Alas,  death  never  comes  to  those  who  wish  for  it. 
When  the  grace  and  sweetness  are  all  fled  from  our 
lives,  and  we  would  be  glad  to  lie  down  in  the  grave 
and  be  at  rest,  then  it  is  that  we  must  go  on  living. 
Now  I  must  go.  The  longer  we  delay  our  parting  the 
harder  it  will  be." 

"  Not  yet,  not  yet !  "  cried  Wallulah.  "  Think  how 
long  I  must  be  alone,  —  always  alone  until  I  die." 

"  God  help  us  !  "  said  Cecil,  setting  his  teeth.  "  I 
will  dash  my  mission  to  the  winds  and  fly  with  you. 
What  if  God  does  forsake  us,  and  our  souls  are  lost ! 
I  would  rather  be  in  the  outer  darkness  with  you  than 
in  heaven  without  you." 

His  resolution  had  given  way  at  last.  But  in  such 
cases,  is  it  not  always  the  woman  that  is  strongest  ? 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  you  told  me  that  your  God  would 
forsake  you  if  you  did.  It  must  not  be." 

She  withdrew  herself  from  his  arms  and  stood  look 
ing  at  him.  He  saw  in  the  moonlight  that  her  pale 
tear-stained  face  had  upon  it  a  sorrowful  resignation, 
a  mournful  strength,  born  of  very  hopelessness. 

"  God  keep  you,  Wallulah  ! "  murmured  Cecil,  bro- 


IN  THE   DARK.  215 

kenly.  "  If  I  could  only  feel  that  he  would  shelter 
and  shield  you  !  " 

"That  may  be  as  it  will,"  replied  the  sweet,  patient 
lips.  "  I  do  not  know.  I  shut  my  eyes  to  the  future. 
I  only  want  to  take  myself  away  from  you,  so  that  your 
God  will  not  be  angry  with  you.  Up  there,"  she  said, 
pointing,  "  I  will  meet  you  sometime  and  be  with 
you  forever.  God  will  not  be  angry  then.  Now 
farewell." 

He  advanced  with  outstretched  arms.  She  mo 
tioned  him  back. 

"It  will  make  it  harder,"  she  said. 

For  a  moment  she  looked  into  his  eyes,  her  own 
dark,  dilated,  full  of  love  and  sadness ;  for  a  moment 
all  that  was  within  him  thrilled  to  the  passionate,  yearn 
ing  tenderness  of  her  gaze ;  then  she  turned  and  went 
away  without  a  word. 

He  could  not  bear  to  see  her  go,  and  yet  he  knew 
it  must  end  thus ;  he  dared  not  follow  her  or  call  her 
back.  But  so  intense  was  his  desire  for  her  to  return, 
so  vehemently  did  his  life  cry  out  after  her,  that  for  an 
instant  it  seemed  to  him  he  had  called  out,  "  Come 
back  !  come  back  !  "  The  cry  rose  to  his  lips ;  but  he 
set  his  teeth  and  held  it  back.  They  must  part ;  was 
it  not  God's  will?  The  old  pain  at  his  heart  re 
turned,  a  faintness  was  on  him,  and  he  reeled  to  the 
ground. 

Could  it  be  that  her  spirit  felt  that  unuttered  cry, 
and  that  it  brought  her  back?  Be  this  as  it  may, 
while  he  was  recovering  from  his  deadly  swoon  he 
dimly  felt  her  presence  beside  him,  and  the  soft  cool 
touch  of  her  fingers  on  his  brow.  Then  —  or  did  he 
imagine  it  ?  —  her  lips,  cold  as  those  of  the  dead, 


216  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

touched  his  own.     But  when  consciousness  entirely 
returned,  he  was  alone  in  the  forest. 

Blind,  dizzy,  staggering  with  weakness,  he  found 
his  way  to  the  camp.  Suddenly,  as  he  drew  near  it, 
he  felt  the  earth  sway  and  move  beneath  him  like  a 
living  thing.  He  caught  hold  of  a  tree  to  escape 
being  thrown  to  the  ground.  There  came  an  awful 
burst  of  flame  from  Mount  Hood.  Burning  cinders  and 
scoria  lit  up  the  eastern  horizon  like  a  fountain  of  fire. 
Then  down  from  the  great  canyon  of  the  Columbia, 
from  the  heart  of  the  Cascade  Range,  broke  a  mighty 
thundering  sound,  as  if  half  a  mountain  had  fallen. 
Drowning  for  a  moment  the  roar  of  the  volcano,  the 
deep  echo  rolled  from  crag  to  crag,  from  hill  to  hill. 
A  wild  chorus  of  outcries  rang  from  the  startled  camp, 
—  the  fierce,  wild  cry  of  many  tribes  mad  with  fear 
yet  breathing  forth  tremulous  defiance,  the  cry  of  hu 
man  dread  mingling  with  the  last  echoes  of  that 
mysterious  crash. 


QUESTIONING    THE  DEAD.  217 


CHAPTER   IX. 

QUESTIONING   THE    DEAD. 

Then  he  said  :  "  Cold  lips  and  breast  without  breath, 
Is  there  no  voice,  no  language  of  death  ?  " 

EDWIN  ARNOLD. 

HILE  Cecil  was  on  his  way  that  evening  to  seek 
Wallulah,  a  canoe  with  but  a  single  occupant 
was  dropping  down  the  Columbia  toward  one  of  the 
many  mimaluse,  or  death -islands,  that  are  washed  by 
its  waters. 

An  Indian  is  always  stealthy,  but  there  was  an 
almost  more  than  Indian  stealthiness  about  this 
canoe-man's  movements.  Noiselessly,  as  the  twilight 
deepened  into  darkness,  the  canoe  glided  out  of  a 
secluded  cove  not  far  from  the  camp ;  noiselessly 
the  paddle  dipped  into  the  water,  and  the  canoe 
passed  like  a  shadow  into  the  night. 

On  the  rocky  mimaluse  island,  some  distance  be 
low  the  mouth  of  the  Willamette,  the  Indian  landed 
and  drew  his  boat  up  on  the  beach.  He  looked 
around  for  a  moment,  glanced  at  the  red  glow  that 
lit  the  far-off  crest  of  Mount  Hood,  then  turned  and 
went  up  the  pathway  to  the  ancient  burial  hut, 

Who  was  it  that  had  dared  to  visit  the  island  of  the 
dead  after  dark  ?  The  bravest  warriors  were  not  capa 
ble  of  such  temerity.  Old  men  told  how,  away  back 
in  the  past,  some  braves  had  ventured  upon  the  island 


218  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

after  nightfall,  and  had  paid  the  awful  forfeit.  They 
were  struck  by  unseen  hands.  Weapons  that  had  lain 
for  years  beside  the  decaying  corpses  of  forgotten 
warriors  wounded  them  in  the  dark.  Fleeing  to  their 
canoes  in  swiftest  fear,  they  found  the  shadowy  pur 
suit  was  swifter  still,  and  were  overtaken  and  struck 
down,  while  the  whole  island  rung  with  mocking 
laughter.  One  only  escaped,  plunging  all  torn  and 
bruised  into  the  river  and  swimming  to  the  farther 
shore.  When  he  looked  back,  the  island  was  covered 
with  moving  lights,  and  the  shrill  echo  of  fiendish 
mirth  came  to  him  across  the  water.  His  compan 
ions  were  never  seen  again.  A  little  while  afterward 
the  dogs  barked  all  night  around  his  lodge,  and  in  the 
morning  he  was  found  lying  dead  upon  his  couch,  his 
face  ghastly  and  drawn  with  fear,  as  if  at  some  fright 
ful  apparition. 

"  He  disturbed  the  mimaluse  tillicums  [dead  peo 
ple],  and  they  came  for  him,"  said  the  old  medicine 
men,  as  they  looked  at  him. 

Since  then,  no  one  had  been  on  the  island  except 
in  the  daytime.  Little  bands  of  mourners  had  brought 
hither  the  swathed  bodies  of  their  dead,  laid  them  in 
the  burial  hut,  lifted  the  wail  over  them,  and  left  upon 
the  first  approach  of  evening. 

Who,  then,  was  this,  —  the  first  for  generations  to  set 
foot  on  the  mimaluse  illahee  after  dark  ? 

It  could  be  but  one,  the  only  one  among  all  the 
tribes  who  would  have  dared  to  come,  and  to  come 
alone, —  Multnomah,  the  war-chief,  who  knew  not 
what  it  was  to  fear  the  living  or  the  dead. 

Startled  by  the  outburst  of  the  great  smoking  moun 
tains,  which  always  presaged  woe  to  the  Willamette s, 


QUESTIONING    THE  DEAD.  219 

perplexed  by  Tohomish's  mysterious  hints  of  some 
impending  calamity,  weighed  down  by  a  dread  pre 
sentiment,  he  came  that  night  on  a  strange  and  super 
stitious  errand. 

On  the  upper  part  of  the  island,  above  reach  of 
high  water,  the  burial  hut  loomed  dark  and  still  in 
the  moonlight  as  the  chief  approached  it. 

Some  of  the  Willamettes,  like  the  Chinooks,  prac 
tised  canoe  burial,  but  the  greater  part  laid  their  dead 
in  huts,  as  did  also  the  Klickitats  and  the  Cascades. 

The  war-chief  entered  the  hut.  The  rude  boards 
that  covered  the  roof  were  broken  and  decayed.  The 
moonlight  shone  through  many  openings,  lighting 
up  the  interior  with  a  dim  and  ghostly  radiance. 
There,  swathed  in  crumbling  cerements,  ghastly  in 
shrunken  flesh  and  protruding  bone,  lay  the  dead  of 
the  line  of  Multnomah,  —  the  chiefs  of  the  blood 
royal  who  had  ruled  the  Willamettes  for  many  gen 
erations.  The  giant  bones  of  warriors  rested  beside 
the  more  delicate  skeletons  of  their  women,  or  the 
skeletons,  slenderer  still,  of  little  children  of  the 
ancient  race.  The  warrior's  bow  lay  beside  him  with 
rotting  string  ;  the  child's  playthings  were  still  clasped 
in  fleshless  fingers ;  beside  the  squaw's  skull  the  ear- 
pendants  of  hiagua  shells  lay  where  they  had  fallen 
from  the  crumbling  flesh  years  before. 

Near  the  door,  and  where  the  slanting  moonbeams 
fell  full  upon  it,  was  the  last  who  had  been  borne  to 
the  death  hut,  the  mother  of  Wallulah.  Six  years  be 
fore  Multnomah  had  brought  her  body,  —  brought  it 
alone,  with  no  eye  to  behold  his  grief;  and  since 
then  no  human  tread  had  disturbed  the  royal  burial- 
place. 


220  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

He  came  now  and  looked  down  upon  the  body. 
It  had  been  tightly  swathed,  fold  upon  fold,  in  some 
oriental  fabric  ;  and  the  wrappings,  stiffened  by  time, 
still  showed  what  had  once  been  a  rare  symmetry  of 
form.  The  face  was  covered  with  a  linen  cloth,  yel 
low  now  through  age  and  fitting  like  a  mask  to  the 
features.  The  chief  knelt  down  and  drew  away  the 
face-cloth.  The  countenance,  though  shrunken,  was 
almost  perfectly  preserved.  Indeed,  so  well  pre 
served  were  many  of  the  corpses  the  first  white  set 
tlers  found  on  these  mimaluse  islands  as  to  cause  at 
one  time  a  belief  that  the  Indians  had  some  secret 
process  of  embalming  their  dead.  There  was  no  such 
process,  however,  —  nothing  save  the  antiseptic  prop 
erties  of  the  ocean  breeze  which  daily  fanned  the 
burial  islands  of  the  lower  Columbia. 

Lovely  indeed  must  the  mother  of  Wallulah  have 
been  in  her  life.  Withered  as  her  features  were, 
there  was  a  delicate  beauty  in  them  still,  —  in  the 
graceful  brow,  the  regular  profile,  the  exquisitely  chis 
elled  chin.  Around  the  shoulders  and  the  small 
shapely  head  her  hair  had  grown  in  rich  luxuriant 
masses. 

The  chief  gazed  long  on  the  shrunken  yet  beauti 
ful  face.  His  iron  features  grew  soft,  as  none  but 
Wallulah  had  ever  seen  them  grow.  He  touched 
gently  the  hair  of  his  dead  wife,  and  put  it  back  from 
her  brow  with  a  wistful,  caressing  tenderness.  He 
had  never  understood  her;  she  had  always  been  a 
mystery  to  him ;  the  harsh  savagery  of  his  nature  had 
never  been  able  to  enter  into  or  comprehend  the 
refined  grace  of  hers ;  but  he  had  loved  her  with  all 
the  fierce,  tenacious,  secretive  power  of  his  being,  a 


QUESTIONING    THE  DEAD.  221 

power  that  neither  time  nor  death  could  change. 
Now  he  spoke  to  her,  his  low  tones  sounding  weird 
in  that  house  of  the  dead,  —  a  strange  place  for  words 
of  love. 

"  My  woman,  —  mine  yet,  for  death  itself  cannot 
take  from  Multnomah  that  which  is  his  own;  my 
bird  that  came  from  the  sea  and  made  its  nest  for  a 
little  while  in  the  heart  of  Multnomah  and  then  flew 
away  and  left  it  empty,  —  I  have  been  hungry  to  see 
you,  to  touch  your  hair  and  look  upon  your  face 
again.  Now  I  am  here,  and  it  is  sweet  to  be  with 
you,  but  the  heart  of  Multnomah  listens  to  hear  you 
speak." 

He  still  went  on  stroking  her  hair  softly,  reverently. 
It  seemed  the  only  caress  of  which  he  was  capable, 
but  it  had  in  it  a  stern  and  mournful  tenderness. 

"  Speak  to  me  !  The  dead  talk  to  the  tomanowos 
men  and  the  dreamers.  You  are  mine  ;  talk  to  me ; 
I  am  in  need.  The  shadow  of  something  terrible  to 
come  is  over  the  Willamette.  The  smoking  moun 
tains  are  angry ;  the  dreamers  see  only  bad  signs ; 
there  are  black  things  before  Multnomah,  and  he  can 
not  see  what  they  are.  Tell  me,  —  the  dead  are  wise 
and  know  that  which  comes,  —  what  is  this  unknown 
evil  which  threatens  me  and  mine?  " 

He  looked  down  at  her  with  intense  craving,  in 
tense  desire,  as  if  his  imperious  will  could  reanimate 
that  silent  clay  and  force  to  the  mute  lips  the  words 
he  so  desired.  But  the  still  lips  moved  not,  and  the 
face  lay  cold  under  his  burning  and  commanding  gaze. 
The  chief  leaned  closer  over  her ;  he  called  her  name 
aloud,  —  something  that  the  Willamette  Indians  rarely 
did.,  for  they  believed  that  if  the  names  of  the  dead 


222  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

were  spoken,  even  in  conversation,  it  would  bring 
them  back ;  so  they  alluded  to  their  lost  ones  only  in 
directly,  and  always  reluctantly  and  with  fear. 

"  Come  back  !  "  said  he,  repeating  the  name  he 
had  not  spoken  for  six  years.  "  You  are  my  own,  you 
are  my  woman.  Hear  me,  speak  to  me,  you  whom 
I  love ;  you  who,  living  or  dead,  are  still  the  wife  of 
Multnomah." 

No  expression  flitted  over  the  changeless  calm  of 
the  face  beneath  him  :  no  sound  came  back  to  his 
straining  ears  except  the  low  intermittent  roar  of  the 
far-off  volcano. 

A  sorrowful  look  crossed  his  face.  As  has  been 
said,  there  was  an  indefinable  something  always  be 
tween  them,  which  perhaps  must  ever  be  between 
those  of  diverse  race.  It  had  been  the  one  mystery 
that  puzzled  him  while  she  was  living,  and  it  seemed 
to  glide,  viewless  yet  impenetrable,  between  them 
now.  He  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  It  comes  between  us  again,"  he  thought,  looking 
down  at  her  mournfully.  "  It  pushed  me  back  when 
she  was  living,  and  made  me  teel  that  I  stood  outside 
her  heart  even  while  my  arms  were  around  her.  It 
comes  between  us  now  and  will  not  let  her  speak.  If 
it  was  only  something  I  could  see  and  grapple  with  !  " 

And  the  fierce  warrior  felt  his  blood  kindle  within 
him,  that  not  only  death  but  something  still  more 
mysterious  and  incomprehensible  should  separate  him 
from  the  one  he  loved.  He  turned  sadly  away  and 
passed  on  to  the  interior  of  the  hut.  As  he  gazed 
on  the  crumbling  relics  of  humanity  around  him,  the 
wonted  look  of  command  came  back  to  his  brow. 
These  should  obey ;  by  iron  strength  of  will  and  mys- 


QUESTIONING   THE  DEAD.  223 

tic  charm  he  would  sway  them  to  his  bidding.  The 
withered  lips  of  death,  or  spirit  voices,  should  tell  him 
what  he  wished  to  know.  Abjectly  superstitious  as 
was  the  idea  it  involved,  there  was  yet  something 
grand  in  his  savage  despotic  grasp  after  power  that, 
dominating  all  he  knew  of  earth,  sought  to  bend  to 
his  will  even  the  spirit-land. 

The  chief  believed  that  the  departed  could  talk  to 
him  if  they  would ;  for  did  they  not  talk  to  the  medi 
cine  men  and  the  dreamers  ?  If  so,  why  not  to  him,  the 
great  chief,  the  master  of  all  the  tribes  of  the  Wauna  ? 

He  knelt  down,  and  began  to  sway  his  body  back 
and  forth  after  the  manner  of  the  Nootka  shamans, 
and  to  chant  a  long,  low,  monotonous  song,  in  which 
the  names  of  the  dead  who  lay  there  were  repeated 
over  and  over  again. 

"  Kamyah,  Tlesco,  Che-aqah,  come  back !  come 
back  and  tell  me  the  secret,  the  black  secret,  the 
death  secret,  the  woe  that  is  to  come.  Winelah, 
Sic-mish,  Tlaquatin,  the  land  is  dark  with  signs 
and  omens  ;  the  hearts  of  men  are  heavy  with  dread  ; 
the  dreamers  say  that  the  end  is  come  for  Multno- 
mah  and  his  race.  Is  it  true  ?  Come  and  tell  me. 
I  wait,  I  listen,  I  speak  your  names;  come  back, 
come  back  ! " 

Tohomish  himself  would  not  have  dared  to  repeat 
those  names  in  the  charnel  hut,  lest  those  whom  he 
invoked  should  spring  upon  him  and  tear  him  to 
pieces.  No  more  potent  or  more  perilous  charm 
was  known  to  the  Indians. 

Ever  as  Multnomah  chanted,  the  sullen  roar  of  the 
volcano  came  like  an  undertone  and  filled  the  pauses 
of  the  wild  incantation.  And  as  he  went  on,  it 


224  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

seemed  to  the  chief  that  the  air  grew  thick  with 
ghostly  presences.  There  was  a  sense  of  breathing 
life  all  around  him.  He  felt  that  others,  many  others, 
were  with  him ;  yet  he  saw  nothing.  When  he  paused 
for  some  voice,  some  whisper  of  reply,  this  sense  of 
hyper-physical  perception  became  so  acute  that  he 
could  almost  see,  almost  hear,  in  the  thick  blackness 
and  the  silence  ;  yet  no  answer  came. 

Again  he  resumed  his  mystic  incantation,  putting 
all  the  force  of  his  nature  into  the  effort,  until  it 
seemed  that  even  those  shadowy  things  of  the  night 
must  yield  to  his  blended  entreaty  and  command. 
But  there  came  no  response.  Thick  and  thronging 
the  viewless  presences  seemed  to  gather,  to  look,  and 
to  listen;  but  no  reply  came  to  his  ears,  and  no 
sight  met  his  eyes  save  the  swathed  corpses  and  the 
white-gleaming  bones  on  which  the  shifting  moon 
beams  fell. 

Multnomah  rose  to  his  feet,  baffled,  thwarted,  all 
his  soul  glowing  with  anger  that  he  should  be  so 
scorned. 

"  Why  is  this?  "  said  his  stern  voice  in  the  silence. 
"  You  come,  but  you  give  no  reply ;  you  look,  you 
listen,  but  you  make  no  sound.  Answer  me,  you  who 
know  the  future  ;  tell  me  this  secret !  " 

Still  no  response.  Yet  the  air  seemed  full  of  dense, 
magnetic  life,  of  muffled  heart-beats,  of  voiceless,  un 
responsive,  uncommunicative  forms  that  he  could  al 
most  touch. 

For  perhaps  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  war-chief 
found  himself  set  at  naught.  His  form  grew  erect ;  his 
eyes  gleamed  with  the  terrible  wrath  which  the  tribes 
dreaded  as  they  dreaded  the  wrath  of  the  Great  Spirit. 


QUESTIONING    THE  DEAD.  22$ 

"  Do  you  mock  Multnomah  ?  Am  I  not  war-chief 
of  the  Willamettes?  Though  you  dwell  in  shadow 
and  your  bodies  are  dust,  you  are  Willamettes,  and  I 
am  still  your  chief.  Give  up  your  secret !  If  the 
Great  Spirit  has  sealed  your  lips  so  that  you  cannot 
speak,  give  me  a  sign  that  will  tell  me.  Answer  by 
word  or  sign ;  I  say  it,  —  I,  Multnomah,  your  chief  and 
master." 

Silence  again.  The  roar  of  the  volcano  had  ceased ; 
and  an  ominous  stillness  brooded  over  Nature,  as  if  all 
things  held  their  breath,  anticipating  some  mighty 
and  imminent  catastrophe.  Multnomah's  hands  were 
clinched,  and  his  strong  face  had  on  it  now  a  fierce 
ness  of  command  that  no  eye  had  ever  seen  before. 
His  indomitable  will  reached  out  to  lay  hold  of  those 
unseen  presences  and  compel  them  to  reply. 

A  moment  of  strained,  commanding  expectation : 
then  the  answer  came  ;  the  sign  was  given.  The  earth 
shook  beneath  him  till  he  staggered,  almost  fell ;  the 
hut  creaked  and  swayed  like  a  storm-driven  wreck ;  and 
through  the  crevices  on  the  side  toward  Mount  Hood 
came  a  blinding  burst  of  flame.  Down  from  the  great 
gap  in  the  Cascade  Range  through  which  flows  the 
Columbia  rolled  the  far-off  thundering  crash  which 
had  so  startled  Cecil  and  appalled  the  tribes.  Then, 
tenfold  louder  than  before,  came  again  the  roar  of  the 
volcano. 

Too  well  Multnomah  knew  what  had  gone  down  in 
that  crash ;  too  well  did  he  read  the  sign  that  had 
been  given.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  all  the 
strength  of  his  heart  had  broken  with  that  which  had 
fallen ;  then  the  proud  dignity  of  his  character  reas 
serted  itself,  even  in  the  face  of  doom. 
'5 


226  THE  BRIDGE   OF   THE   GODS. 

"  It  has  come  at  last,  as  the  wise  men  of  old  said  it 
would.  The  end  is  at  hand  ;  the  Willamettes  pass  like 
a  shadow  from  the  earth.  The  Great  Spirit  has  for 
saken  us,  our  tomanowos  has  failed  us.  But  my  own 
heart  fails  me  not,  and  my  own  arm  is  strong.  Like  a 
war-chief  will  I  meet  that  which  is  to  come.  Multno- 
mah  falls,  but  he  falls  as  the  Bridge  has  fallen,  with  a 
crash  that  will  shake  the  earth,  with  a  ruin  that  shall 
crush  all  beneath  him  even  as  he  goes  down." 

Turning  away,  his  eyes  fell  on  the  body  of  his  wife 
as  he  passed  toward  the  door.  Aroused  and  desper 
ate  as  he  was,  he  stopped  an  instant  and  looked  down 
at  her  with  a  long,  lingering  look,  a  look  that  seemed 
to  say,  "  I  shall  meet  you  ere  many  suns.  Death  and 
ruin  but  give  you  back  to  me  the  sooner.  There 
will  be  nothing  between  us  then ;  I  shall  understand 
you  at  last." 

Then  he  drew  his  robe  close  around  him,  and  went 
out  into  the  night. 


BOOK    V. 

THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  END. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    HAND    OF   THE    GREAT   SPIRIT. 

"  We  view  as  one  who  hath  an  evil  sight," 
He  answered,  "  plainly  objects  far  remote." 

CAREY:  Dante. 

'  I  ^HE  night  came  to  an  end  at  last,  —  a  night  not 
soon  forgotten  by  the  Oregon  Indians,  and 
destined  to  be  remembered  in  tale  and  tomanowos 
lore  long  after  that  generation  had  passed  away. 
The  sky  was  thick  with  clouds ;  the  atmosphere  was 
heavy  with  smoke,  which,  dense  and  low-hanging  in 
the  still  weather,  shut  out  the  entire  horizon.  The 
volcano  was  invisible  in  the  smoky  air,  but  its  low 
mutterings  came  to  them  from  time  to  time. 

The  chiefs  met  early  in  the  grove  of  council. 
Multnomah's  countenance  told  nothing  of  the  night 
before,  but  almost  all  the  rest  showed  something  yet 
of  superstitious  fear.  Mishlah's  face  was  haggard, 
his  air  startled  and  uneasy,  like  that  of  some  forest 
animal  that  had  been  terribly  frightened;  and  even 
Snoqualrnie  looked  worn.  But  the  greatest  change  of 
all  was  in  Tohomish.  His  face  was  as  ghastly  as  that 


228  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

of  a  corpse,  and  he  came  into  the  council  walking  in 
a  dull  lifeless  way,  as  if  hardly  aware  of  what  he  was 
doing.  Those  nearest  to  him  shrank  away,  whisper 
ing  to  one  another  that  the  seer  looked  like  a  dead 
man. 

Cecil  came  last.  The  severe  mental  conflict  of  the 
past  night  had  told  almost  fatally  on  a  frame  already 
worn  out  by  years  of  toil  and  sickness.  His  cheek 
was  pale,  his  eye  hollow,  his  step  slow  and  faltering, 
like  one  whose  flame  of  life  is  burning  very  low.  The 
pain  at  his  heart,  always  worse  in  times  of  exhaustion, 
was  sharp  and  piercing. 

He  looked  agitated  and  restless ;  he  had  tried 
hard  to  give  Wallulah  into  the  hands  of  God  and  feel 
that  she  was  safe,  but  he  could  not.  For  himself  he 
had  no  thought ;  but  his  whole  soul  was  wrung  with 
pain  for  her.  By  virtue  of  his  own  keen  sympathies, 
he  anticipated  and  felt  all  that  the  years  had  in  store 
for  her,  —  the  loneliness,  the  heartache,  the  trying  to 
care  for  one  she  loathed ;  until  he  shrank  from  her 
desolate  and  hopeless  future  as  if  it  had  been  his 
own.  All  his  soul  went  out  to  her  in  yearning  tender 
ness,  in  passionate  desire  to  shield  her  and  to  take 
away  her  burden. 

But  his  resolution  never  wavered.  Below  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  feeling,  the  decision  to  make  their  separa 
tion  final  was  as  unchanging  as  granite.  He  could 
not  bear  to  look  upon  her  face  again ;  he  could  not 
bear  to  see  her  wedded  to  Snoqualmie.  He  intended 
to  make  one  last  appeal  to  the  Indians  this  morning 
to  accept  the  gospel  of  peace ;  then  he  would  leave 
the  council  before  Wallulah  was  brought  to  it.  So 
he  sat  there  now,  waiting  for  the  "  talk  "  to  begin. 


THE  HAND   OF  THE   GREAT  SPIRIT.       229 

The  bands  gathered  around  the  grove  were  smaller 
than  usual.  Many  had  fled  from  the  valley  at  dawn 
to  escape  from  the  dreaded  vicinity  of  the  smoking 
mountains ;  many  hundreds  remained,  but  they  were 
awed  and  frightened.  No  war  could  have  appalled 
them  as  they  were  appalled  by  the  shaking  of  the 
solid  earth  under  their  feet.  All  the  abject  supersti 
tion  of  their  natures  was  roused.  They  looked  like 
men  who  felt  themselves  caught  in  the  grasp  of  some 
supernatural  power. 

Multnomah  opened  the  council  by  saying  that  two 
runners  had  arrived  with  news  that  morning ;  the  one 
from  the  sea-coast,  the  other  from  up  the  Columbia. 
They  would  come  before  the  council  and  tell  the 
news  they  had  brought. 

The  runner  from  the  upper  Columbia  spoke  first. 
He  had  come  thirty  miles  since  dawn.  He  seemed 
unnerved  and  fearful,  like  one  about  to  announce 
some  unheard-of  calamity.  The  most  stoical  bent 
forward  eagerly  to  hear. 

"  The  Great  Spirit  has  shaken  the  earth,  and  the 
Bridge  of  the  Gods  has  fallen  !  " 

There  was  the  silence  of  amazement ;  then  through 
the  tribes  passed  in  many  tongues  the  wild  and  won 
dering  murmur,  "  The  Bridge  of  the  Gods  has  fallen  ! 
The  Bridge  of  the  Gods  has  fallen  ! "  With  it,  too, 
went  the  recollection  of  the  ancient  prophecy  that 
when  the  Bridge  fell  the  power  of  the  Willamettes 
would  also  fall.  Now  the  Bridge  was  broken,  and 
the  dominion  of  the  Willamettes  was  broken  forever 
with  it.  At  another  time  the  slumbering  jealousy  of 
the  tribes  would  have  burst  forth  in  terrific  vengeance 
on  the  doomed  race.  But  they  were  dejected  and 


230  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

afraid.  In  the  fall  of  the  Bridge  they  saw  the  hand 
of  the  Great  Spirit,  a  visitation  of  God.  And  so 
Willamette  and  tributary  alike  heard  the  news  with 
fear  and  apprehension.  Only  Multnomah,  who  knew 
the  message  before  it  was  spoken,  listened  with  his 
wonted  composure. 

"  It  is  well,"  he  said,  with  more  than  Indian  dupli 
city  ;  "  the  daughter  of  Multnomah  is  to  become  the 
wife  of  Snoqualmie  the  Cayuse,  and  the  new  line 
that  commences  with  their  children  will  give  new 
chiefs  to  head  the  confederacy  of  the  Wauna.  The 
old  gives  way  to  the  new.  That  is  the  sign  that  the 
Great  Spirit  gives  in  the  fall  of  the  Bridge.  Think 
you  it  means  that  the  war-strength  is  gone  from  us, 
that  we  shall  no  longer  prevail  in  battle  ?  No,  no  ! 
who  thinks  it?  " 

The  proud  old  sachem  rose  to  his  feet ;  his  giant 
form  towered  over  the  multitude,  and  every  eye  fell 
before  the  haughty  and  scornful  glance  that  swept 
council  and  audience  like  a  challenge  to  battle. 

"  Is  there  a  chief  here  that  thinks  it  ?  Let  him 
step  out,  let  him  grapple  with  Multnomah  in  the 
death-grapple,  and  see.  Is  there  a  tribe  that  thinks 
it  ?  We  reach  out  our  arms  to  them ;  we  are  ready. 
Let  them  meet  us  in  battle  now,  to-day,  and  know  if 
our  hearts  have  become  the  hearts  of  women.  Will 
you  come  ?  We  will  give  you  dark  and  bloody  proof 
that  our  tomahawks  are  still  sharp  and  our  arms  are 
strong." 

He  stood  with  outstretched  arms,  from  which  the 
robe  of  fur  had  fallen  back.  A  thrill  of  dread  went 
through  the  assembly  at  the  grim  defiance;  then 
Snoqualmie  spoke. 


THE  HAND   OF  THE    GREAT  SPIRIT.      231 

"  The  heart  of  all  the  tribes  is  as  the  heart  of 
Multnomah.  Let  there  be  peace." 

The  chief  resumed  his  seat.  His  force  of  will  had 
wrung  one  last  victory  from  fate  itself.  Instantly,  and 
with  consummate  address,  Multnomah  preoccupied  the 
attention  of  the  council  before  anything  could  be  said 
or  done  to  impair  the  effect  of  his  challenge.  He 
bade  the  other  runner,  the  one  from  the  sea- coast, 
deliver  his  message. 

It  was,  in  effect,  this  :  — 

A  large  canoe,  with  great  white  wings  like  a  bird, 
had  come  gliding  over  the  waters  to  the  coast  near  the 
mouth  of  the  Wauna.  Whence  it  came  no  one  could 
tell ;  but  its  crew  were  pale  of  skin  like  the  great  white 
shaman  there  in  the  council,  and  seemed  of  his  race. 
Some  of  them  came  ashore  in  a  small  canoe  to  trade 
with  the  Indians,  but  trouble  rose  between  them  and 
there  was  a  battle.  The  strangers  slew  many  Indians 
with  their  magic,  darting  fire  at  them  from  long  black 
tubes.  Then  they  escaped  to  the  great  canoe,  which 
spread  its  wings  and  passed  away  from  sight  into  the 
sea.  Many  of  the  Indians  were  killed,  but  none  of  the 
pale-faced  intruders.  Now  the  band  who  had  suffered 
demanded  that  the  white  man  of  whom  they  had  heard 
—  the  white  chief  at  the  council  —  be  put  to  death 
to  pay  the  blood-debt. 

All  eyes  turned  on  Cecil,  and  he  felt  that  his  hour 
was  come.  Weak,  exhausted  in  body  and  mind,  wea 
ried  almost  to  death,  a  sudden  and  awful  peril  was  on 
him.  For  a  moment  his  heart  sank,  his  brain  grew 
dizzy.  How  could  he  meet  this  emergency  ?  All  his 
soul  went  out  to  God  with  a  dumb  prayer  for  help, 
with  an  overwhelming  sense  of  weakness.  Then  he 


232  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

heard  Multnomah  speaking  to  him  in  cold,  hard 
tones. 

"  The  white  man  has  heard  the  words  of  the  runner. 
What  has  he  to  say  why  his  life  should  not  pay  the 
blood-debt?" 

Cecil  rose  to  his  feet.  With  one  last  effort  he  put 
Wallulah,  himself,  his  mission,  into  the  hands  of  God ; 
with  one  last  effort  he  forced  himself  to  speak. 

Men  of  nervous  temperament,  like  Cecil,  can  bring 
out  of  an  exhausted  body  an  energy,  an  outburst  of 
final  and  intense  effort,  of  which  those  of  stronger 
physique  do  not  seem  capable.  But  it  drains  the 
remaining  vital  forces,  and  the  reaction  is  terrible. 
Was  it  this  flaming-up  of  the  almost  burned-out  em 
bers  of  life  that  animated  Cecil  now?  Or  was  it  the 
Divine  Strength  coming  to  him  in  answer  to  prayer? 
Be  this  as  it  may,  when  he  opened  his  lips  to  speak, 
all  the  power  of  his  consecration  came  back ;  physical 
weakness  and  mental  anxiety  left  him ;  he  felt  that 
Wallulah  was  safe  in  the  arms  of  the  Infinite  Compas 
sion  ;  he  felt  his  love  for  the  Indians,  his  deep  yearn 
ing  to  help  them,  to  bring  them  to  God,  rekindling 
within  him ;  and  never  had  he  been  more  grandly  the 
Apostle  to  the  Indians  than  now. 

In  passionate  tenderness,  in  burning  appeal,  in  liv 
ing  force  and  power  of  delivery,  it  was  the  ^supreme 
effort  of  his  life.  He  did  not  plead  for  himself;  he  ig 
nored,  put  aside,  forgot  his  own  personal  danger ;  but 
he  set  before  his  hearers  the  wickedness  of  their  own 
system  of  retaliation  and  revenge ;  he  showed  them 
how  it  overshadowed  their  lives  and  lay  like  a  dead 
ening  weight  on  their  better  natures.  The  horror,  the 
cruelty,  the  brute  animalism  of  the  blood- thirst,  the 


THE  HAND   OF  THE   GREA  T  SPIRIT.       233 

war-lust,  was  set  over  against  the  love  and  forgiveness 
to  which  the  Great  Spirit  called  them. 

The  hearts  of  the  Indians  were  shaken  within 
them.  The  barbarism  which  was  the  outcome  of 
centuries  of  strife  and  revenge,  the  dark  and  cumu 
lative  growth  of  ages,  was  stirred  to  its  core  by 
the  strong  and  tender  eloquence  of  this  one  man. 
As  he  spoke,  there  came  to  all  those  swarthy  list 
eners,  in  dim  beauty,  a  glimpse  of  a  better  life ; 
there  came  to  them  a  moment's  fleeting  revelation 
of  something  above  their  own  vindictiveness  and 
ferocity.  That  vague  longing,  that  indefinable  wist- 
fulness  which  he  had  so  often  seen  on  the  faces  of 
his  savage  audiences  was  on  nearly  every  face  when 
he  closed. 

As  he  took  his  seat,  the  tide  of  inspiration  went 
from  him,  and  a  deadly  faintness  came  over  him.  It 
seemed  as  if  in  that  awful  reaction  the  last  spark  of 
vitality  was  dying  out ;  but  somehow,  through  it  all, 
he  felt  at  peace  with  God  and  man.  A  great  quiet 
was  upon  him ;  he  was  anxious  for  nothing,  he  cared 
for  nothing,  he  simply  rested  as  on  the  living  presence 
of  the  Father. 

Upon  the  sweet  and  lingering  spell  of  his  closing 
words  came  Multnomah's  tones  in  stern  contrast. 

"  What  is  the  word  of  the  council  ?  Shall  the  white 
man  live  or  die?  " 

Snoqualmie  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant. 

"  Blood  for  blood.  Let  the  white  man  die  at  the 
torture-stake." 

One  by  one  the  chiefs  gave  their  voice  for  death. 
Shaken  for  but  a  moment,  the  ancient  inherited  bar 
barism  which  was  their  very  life  reasserted  itself,  and 


234  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

they  could  decide  no  other  way.  One,  two,  three  of 
the  sachems  gave  no  answer,  but  sat  in  silence.  They 
were  men  whose  hearts  had  been  touched  before  by 
Cecil,  and  who  were  already  desiring  the  better  life. 
They  could  not  condemn  their  teacher. 

At  length  it  came  to  Tohomish.  He  arose.  His 
face,  always  repulsive,  was  pallid  now  in  the  extreme. 
The  swathed  corpses  on  mimaluse  island  looked  not 
more  sunken  and  ghastly. 

He  essayed  to  speak ;  thrice  the  words  faltered  on 
his  lips ;  and  when  at  last  he  spoke,  it  was  in  a  weary, 
lifeless  way.  His  tones  startled  the  audience  like  an 
electric  shock.  The  marvellous  power  and  sweetness 
were  gone  from  his  voice  ;  its  accents  were  discordant, 
uncertain.  Could  the  death's  head  before  them  be 
that  of  Tohomish?  Could  those  harsh  and  broken 
tones  be  those  of  the  Pine  Voice  ?  He  seemed  like 
a  man  whose  animal  life  still  survived,  but  whose  soul 
was  dead. 

What  he  said  at  first  had  no  relation  to  the  matter 
before  the  council.  Every  Indian  had  his  tomano- 
wos  appointed  him  by  the  Great  Spirit  from  his  birth, 
and  that  tomanowos  was  the  strength  of  his  life.  Its 
influence  grew  with  his  growth  ;  the  roots  of  his  being 
were  fed  in  it ;  it  imparted  its  characteristics  to  him. 
But  the  name  and  nature  of  his  tomanowos  was  the 
one  secret  that  must  go  with  him  to  the  grave.  If  it 
was  told,  the  charm  was  lost  and  the  tomanowos  de 
serted  him. 

Tohomish's  tomanowos  was  the  Bridge  and  the  fore 
knowledge  of  its  fall :  a  black  secret  that  had  darkened 
his  whole  life,  and  imparted  the  strange  and  mournful 
mystery  to  his  eloquence.  Now  that  the  Bridge  was 


THE  HAND   OF  THE   GREAT  SPIRIT.       235 

fallen,  the  strength  was  gone  from  Tohomish's  heart, 
the  music  from  his  words. 

"  Tohomish  has  no  voice  now,"  he  continued ;  "  he 
is  as  one  dead.  He  desires  to  say  only  this,  then 
his  words  shall  be  heard  no  more  among  men.  The 
fall  of  the  Bridge  is  a  sign  that  not  only  the  Willa- 
mettes  but  all  the  tribes  of  the  Wauna  shall  fall  and 
pass  away.  Another  people  shall  take  .our  place, 
another  race  shall  reign  in  our  stead,  and  the  Indian 
shall  be  forgotten,  or  remembered  only  as  a  dim 
memory  of  the  past. 

"  And  who  are  they  who  bring  us  our  doom  ?  Look 
on  the  face  of  the  white  wanderer  there ;  listen  to  the 
story  of  your  brethren  slain  at  the  sea-coast  by  the 
white  men  in  the  canoe,  and  you  will  know.  They 
come ;  they  that  are  stronger,  and  push  us  out  into  the 
dark.  The  white  wanderer  talks  of  peace ;  but  the 
Great  Spirit  has  put  death  between  the  Indian  and 
the  white  man,  and  where  he  has  put  death  there  can 
be  no  peace. 

"  Slay  the  white  man  as  the  white  race  will  slay 
your  children  in  the  time  that  is  to  come.  Peace  ? 
love  ?  There  can  be  only  war  and  hate.  Striking  back 
blow  for  blow  like  a  wounded  rattlesnake,  shall  the  red 
man  pass ;  and  when  the  bones  of  the  last  Indian  of 
the  Wauna  lie  bleaching  on  the  prairie  far  from  the 
mimaluse  island  of  his  fathers,  then  there  will  be  peace. 

"  Tohomish  has  spoken  ;  his  words  are  ended,  and 
ended  forever." 

The  harsh,  disjointed  tones  ceased.  All  eyes  fell 
again  on  Cecil,  the  representative  of  the  race  by  which 
the  Willamettes  were  doomed.  The  wrath  of  all  those 
hundreds,  the  vengeance  of  all  those  gathered  tribes 


236  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

of  the  Wauna,  the  hatred  of  the  whole  people  he  had 
come  to  save,  seemed  to  rise  up  and  fall  upon  him, 
the  frail  invalid  with  the  sharp  pain  throbbing  at  his 
heart. 

But  that  strange  peace  was  on  him  still,  and  his 
eyes,  dilated  and  brilliant  in  the  extremity  of  physical 
pain,  met  those  lowering  brows  with  a  look  of  exceed 
ing  pity. 

Multnomah  rose  to  pronounce  sentence.  For  him 
there  could  be  but  one  decision,  and  he  gave  it,  —  the 
clinched  hand,  the  downward  gesture,  that  said, 
"  There  is  death  between  us.  We  will  slay  as  we 
shall  be  slain." 

Cecil  was  on  his  feet,  though  it  seemed  as  if  he 
must  fall  within  the  moment.  He  fought  down  the 
pain  that  pierced  his  heart  like  a  knife ;  he  gathered 
the  last  resources  of  an  exhausted  frame  for  one  more 
effort.  The  executioners  sprang  forward  with  the 
covering  for  his  eyes  that  was  to  shut  out  the  light 
forever.  His  glance,  his  gesture  held  them  back ; 
they  paused  irresolutely,  even  in  the  presence  of  Mult 
nomah  ;  weak  as  Cecil  was,  he  was  the  great  white 
tomanowos  still,  and  they  dared  not  touch  him. 
There  was  a  pause,  an  intense  silence. 

"  I  gave  up  all  to  come  and  tell  you  of  God,  and 
you  have  condemned  me  to  die  at  the  torture-stake," 
said  the  soft,  low  voice,  sending  through  their  stern 
hearts  its  thrill  and  pathos  for  the  last  time.  "  But 
you  shall  not  bring  this  blood-stain  upon  your  souls. 
The  hand  of  the  Great  Spirit  is  on  me ;  he  takes  me 
to  himself.  Remember  —  what  I  have  said.  The 
Great  Spirit  loves  you.  Pray  —  forgive  —  be  at 
peace.  Remember — " 


THE  HAND   OF  THE   GREAT  SPIRIT.       237 

The  quiver  of  agonizing  pain  disturbed  the  gentle 
ness  of  his  look ;  he  reeled,  and  sank  to  the  ground. 
For  a  moment  the  slight  form  shuddered  convulsively 
and  the  hands  were  clinched  ;  then  the  struggle  ceased 
and  a  wonderful  brightness  shone  upon  his  face.  His 
lips  murmured  something  in  his  own  tongue,  some 
thing  into  which  came  the  name  of  Wallulah  and  the 
name  of  God.  Then  his  eyes  grew  dim  and  he  lay 
very  still.  Only  the  expression  of  perfect  peace  still 
rested  on  the  face.  Sachems  and  warriors  gazed  in 
awe  upon  the  beauty,  grand  in  death,  of  the  one  whom 
the  Great  Spirit  had  taken  from  them.  Perhaps  the 
iron  heart  of  the  war-chief  was  the  only  one  that  did 
not  feel  remorse  and  self-reproach. 

Ere  the  silence  was  broken,  an  old  Indian  woman 
came  forward  from  the  crowd  into  the  circle  of  chiefs. 
She  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  but  ad 
vanced  among  the  warrior-sachems,  into  whose  pres 
ence  no  woman  had  dared  intrude  herself,  and  bent 
over  the  dead.  She  lifted  the  wasted  body  in  her 
arms  and  bore  it  away,  with  shut  lips  and  down 
cast  eyes,  asking  no  permission,  saying  no  word. 
The  charm  that  had  been  around  the  white  shaman  in 
life  seemed  to  invest  her  with  its  power;  for  grim 
chieftains  made  way,  the  crowd  opened  to  let  her 
pass,  and  even  Multnomah  looked  on  in  silence. 

That  afternoon,  a  little  band  of  Indians  were  assem 
bled  in  Cecil's  lodge.  Some  of  them  were  already 
converts  ;  some  were  only  awakened  and  impressed  ; 
but  all  were  men  who  loved  him. 

They  were  gathered,  men  of  huge  frame,  around  a 
dead  body  that  lay  upon  a  cougar  skin.  Their  faces 
were  sad,  their  manner  was  solemn.  In  the  corner 


238  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

sat  an  aged  squaw,  her  face  resting  in  her  hands,  her 
long  gray  hair  falling  dishevelled  about  her  shoulders. 
In  that  heart-broken  attitude  she  had  sat  ever  since 
bringing  Cecil  to  the  hut.  She  did  not  weep  or  sob, 
but  sat  motionless,  in  stoical,  dumb  despair. 

Around  the  dead  the  Indians  stood  or  sat  in 
silence,  each  waiting  for  the  other  to  say  what  was  in 
the  hearts  of  all.  At  length  the  Shoshone  renegade, 
who  had  so  loved  Cecil,  spoke. 

"  Our  white  brother  is  gone  from  us,  but  the  Great 
Spirit  lives  and  dies  not.  Let  us  turn  from  blood 
and  sin  and  walk  in  the  way  our  brother  showed  us. 
He  said, '  Remember ;  '  and  shall  we  forget  ?  I  choose 
now,  while  he  can  hear  me,  before  he  is  laid  in  the 
cold  ground.  I  put  away  from  me  the  old  heart 
of  hate  and  revenge.  I  ask  the  Great  Spirit  to  give 
me  the  new  heart  of  love  and  peace.  I  have  chosen." 

One  by  one  each  told  his  resolve,  the  swarthy  faces 
lighting  up,  the  stern  lips  saying  unwonted  words  of 
love.  Dim  and  misty,  the  dawn  had  come  to  them ; 
reaching  out  in  the  dark,  they  had  got  hold  of  the 
hand  of  God  and  felt  that  he  was  a  Father.  One 
would  have  said  that  their  dead  teacher  lying  there 
heard  their  vows,  so  calm  and  full  of  peace  was  the 
white  still  face. 

That  night  the  first  beams  of  the  rising  moon  fell 
on  a  new-made  grave  under  the  cottonwoods,  not 
far  from  the  bank  of  the  river.  Beneath  it,  silent  in 
the  last  sleep,  lay  the  student  whose  graceful  presence 
had  been  the  pride  of  far-off  Magdalen,  the  pastor 
whose  memory  still  lingered  in  New  England,  the 
evangelist  whose  burning  words  had  thrilled  the  tribes 
of  the  wilderness  like  the  words  of  some  prophet  of  old. 


THE  HAND   OF  THE   GREAT  SPIRIT.       239 

Beside  the  grave  crouched  the  old  Indian  woman, 
alone  and  forsaken  in  her  despair,  —  the  one  mourner 
out  of  all  for  whom  his  life  had  been  given. 

No,  not  the  only  one ;  for  a  tall  warrior  enters  the 
grove ;  the  Shoshone  renegade  bends  over  her  and 
touches  her  gently  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Come,"  he  says  kindly,  "  our  horses  are  saddled  ; 
we  take  the  trail  up  the  Wauna  to-night,  I  and  my 
friends.  We  will  fly  from  this  fated  valley  ere  the 
wrath  of  the  Great  Spirit  falls  upon  it.  Beyond  the 
mountains  I  will  seek  a  new  home  with  the  Spokanes 
or  the  Okanogans.  Come ;  my  home  shall  be  your 
home,  because  you  cared  for  him  that  is  gone." 

She  shook  her  head  and  pointed  to  the  grave. 

"  My  heart  is  there ;  my  life  is  buried  with  him.  I 
cannot  go." 

Again  he  urged  her. 

"  No,  no,"  she  replied,  with  Indian  stubbornness  ; 
"  I  cannot  leave  him.  Was  I  not  like  his  mother? 
How  can  I  go  and  leave  him  for  others  ?  The  roots 
of  the  old  tree  grow  not  in  new  soil.  If  it  is  pulled 
up  it  dies." 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  the  savage,  with  a  gentleness 
born  of  his  new  faith.  "  Be  my  mother.  We  will  talk 
of  him  ;  you  shall  tell  me  of  him  and  his  God.  Come, 
the  horses  wait." 

Again  she  shook  her  head ;  then  fell  forward  on  the 
grave,  her  arms  thrown  out,  as  if  to  clasp  it  in  her 
embrace.  He  tried  to  lift  her;  her  head  fell  back, 
and  she  lay  relaxed  and  motionless  in  his  arms. 

Another  grave  was  made  by  Cecil's ;  and  the  little 
band  rode  through  the  mountain  pass  that  night, 
toward  the  country  of  the  Okanogans,  without  her. 


240 


THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 


And  that  same  night,  an  English  exploring  vessel 
far  out  at  sea  sailed  southward,  leaving  behind  the 
unknown  shores  of  Oregon,  —  her  crew  never  dream 
ing  how  near  they  had  been  to  finding  the  lost 
wanderer,  Cecil  Grey. 


THE  MARRIAGE  AND  THE  BREAKING  UP.     241 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE  MARRIAGE  AND  THE  BREAKING  UP. 

Remembering  love  and  all  the  dead  delight, 
And  all  that  time  was  sweet  with  for  a  space, 

SWINBURNE. 

A  FTER  Cecil  had  been  borne  from  the  council- 
^T  grove,  the  Indians,  rousing  themselves  from  the 
spell  of  the  strange  scene  they  had  just  witnessed, 
looked  around  for  Tohomish  the  seer.  He  was  gone. 
No  one  could  remember  seeing  him  go,  yet  he  was 
missing  from  his  accustomed  place,  and  never  was  he 
seen  or  heard  of  more.  Upon  his  fate,  lost  in  the 
common  ruin  that  engulfed  his  race,  the  legend  casts 
no  ray  of  light.  It  is  certain  that  the  fall  of  the 
Bridge,  with  which  his  life  was  interwoven,  had  a 
disastrous  effect  upon  him,  and  as  he  said,  that  the 
strength  of  his  life  was  broken.  It  is  probable  that 
the  orator-seer,  feeling  within  himself  that  his  power 
was  gone,  crept  away  into  the  forest  to  die.  Perhaps, 
had  they  searched  for  him,  they  would  have  found 
him  lying  lifeless  upon  the  leaves  in  some  dense 
thicket  or  at  the  foot  of  some  lonely  crag. 

Whatever  his  fate,  the  Indians  never  looked  upon 
his  face  again. 

Multnomah  made  no  comment  on  the  death  of 
Cecil,  or  on  the  prophecy  of  Tohomish,  so  much  at 
variance  with  his  own  interpretation  of  the  fall  of  the 
16 


242 


THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 


Bridge.  Whatever  he  had  to  say  was  evidently  held 
in  reserve  for  the  closing  talk  with  which  he  would 
soon  dismiss  the  council.  . 

"You  shall  see  Multnomah's  daughter  given  to 
Snoqualmie,  and  then  Multnomah  will  open  his  hand 
and  make  you  rich." 

So  said  the  war-chief;  and  a  runner  was  dispatched 
with  a  summons  to  Wallulah.  In  a  little  while  a  band 
of  Indian  girls  was  seen  approaching  the  grove.  Sur 
rounded  by  the  maidens,  as  if  they  were  a  guard  of 
honor,  came  Wallulah,  all  unconscious  of  the  tragedy 
that  had  just  been  enacted. 

Among  the  chiefs  they  passed,  and  stopped  before 
Multnomah.  As  they  paused,  Wallulah  looked  around 
for  Cecil  in  one  quick  glance ;  then,  not  seeing  him, 
she  cast  down  her  eyes  despondingly.  Multnomah 
rose  and  beckoned  Snoqualmie  to  him.  He  came 
forward  and  stood  beside  the  war- chief.  The  Indian 
girls  stepped  back  a  little,  in  involuntary  awe  of  the 
two  great  sachems,  and  left  Wallulah  standing  alone 
before  them. 

Her  face  wore  a  patient  look,  as  of  one  who  is  very 
worn  and  weary,  tired  of  the  burdens  of  life,  yet  going 
forward  without  hope,  without  thought  even,  to  other 
and  still  heavier  burdens.  She  was  clad  in  a  soft 
oriental  fabric ;  her  hair  fell  in  luxuriant  tresses  upon 
her  shoulders  ;  her  flute  hung  at  her  belt  by  a  slender 
chain  of  gold. 

There  was  something  unspeakably  sad  and  heart 
broken  in  her  appearance,  as  she  stood  there,  a 
listless,  dejected  figure,  before  those  two  grim  war 
riors,  awaiting  her  doom. 

Multnomah  took  her  hand  ;  the  fingers  of  the  other 


THE  MARRIAGE  AND  THE  BREAKING  UP.     243 

were  clasped  around  her  beloved  flute,  pressing  it 
closely,  as  if  seeking  help  from  its  mute  companion 
ship.  The  chief  gave  her  hand  into  Snoqualmie's ;  a 
shudder  passed  through  her  as  she  felt  his  touch,  and 
she  trembled  from  head  to  foot ;  then  she  controlled 
herself  by  a  strong  effort.  Snoqualmie's  fierce  black 
eyes  searched  her  face,  as  if  looking  through  and 
through  her,  and  she  flushed  faintly  under  their 
penetrating  gaze. 

"  She  is  yours,"  said  the  war-chief.  "  Be  kind  to 
her,  for  though  she  is  your  wife  she  is  the  daughter 
of  Multnomah."  So  much  did  the  Indian  say  for 
love  of  his  child,  wondering  at  her  strange,  sad  look, 
and  feeling  vaguely  that  she  was  unhappy.  She  tried 
to  withdraw  her  fingers  from  Snoqualmie's  clasp  the 
moment  her  father  was  done  speaking.  He  held 
them  tightly,  however,  and  bending  over  her,  spoke 
in  a  low  tone. 

"  My  band  starts  for  home  at  mid -day.  Be  ready 
to  go  when  I  send  for  you." 

She  looked  up  with  startled,  piteous  eyes. 

"To-day?  "  she  asked  in  a  choked  voice. 

"  To-day,"  came  the  abrupt  reply ;  too  low  for  the 
others  to  hear,  yet  harsh  enough  to  sting  her  through 
and  through.  "  Do  you  think  Snoqualmie  goes  back 
to  his  illahee  and  leaves  his  woman  behind?" 

Her  spirit  kindled  in  resentment.  Never  had  the 
chiefs  daughter  been  spoken  to  so  harshly ;  then  all 
at  once  it  came  to  her  that  he  knew,  —  that  he  must 
have  followed  Cecil  and  witnessed  one  of  their  last 
interviews.  Jealous,  revengeful,  the  Indian  was  her 
master  now.  She  grew  pale  to  the  lips.  He  released 
her  hand,  and  she  shrank  away  from  him,  and  left  the 


244  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

council  with  her  maidens.  No  one  had  heard  the 
few  half-whispered  words  that  passed  between  them, 
but  those  who  stood  nearest  noticed  the  deadly  pallor 
that  came  over  her  face  while  Snoqualmie  was  speak 
ing.  Multnomah  saw  it,  and  Snoqualmie  caught  from 
him  a  glance  that  chilled  even  his  haughty  nature,  — 
a  glance  that  said,  "  Beware ;  she  is  the  war-chiefs 
daughter." 

But  even  if  he  had  known  all,  Multnomah  would 
have  sacrificed  her.  His  plans  must  be  carried  out, 
even  though  her  heart  be  crushed. 

Now  followed  the  potlatch,  —  the  giving  of  gifts. 
At  a  signal  from  the  war-chief,  his  slaves  appeared, 
laden  with  presents.  Large  heaps  of  rich  furs  and 
skins  were  laid  on  the  ground  near  the  chiefs.  The 
finest  of  bows  and  arrows,  with  gaily  decorated  quivers 
and  store  of  bow-strings,  were  brought.  Untold  treas 
ure  of  hiagua  shells,  money  as  well  as  ornament  to 
the  Oregon  Indians,  was  poured  out  upon  the  ground, 
and  lay  glistening  in  the  sun  in  bright-colored  masses. 
To  the  Indians  they  represented  vast  and  splendid 
wealth.  Multnomah  was  the  richest  of  all  the  In 
dians  of  the  Wauna ;  and  the  gifts  displayed  were  the 
spoil  of  many  wars,  treasures  garnered  during  forty 
years  of  sovereignty. 

And  now  they  were  all  given  away.  The  chief 
kept  back  nothing,  except  some  cases  of  oriental 
fabrics  that  had  been  saved  from  the  wreck  when 
Wallulah's  mother  was  cast  upon  the  shore.  Well 
would  it  have  been  for  him  and  his  race  had  they 
been  given  too ;  for,  little  as  they  dreamed  it,  the 
fate  of  the  Willamettes  lay  sealed  up  in  those  un 
opened  cases  of  silk  and  damask. 


THE  MARRIAGE  AND  THE  BREAKING  UP.     245 

Again  and  again  the  slaves  of  Multnomah  added 
their  burdens  to  the  heaps,  and  went  back  for  more, 
till  a  murmur  of  wonder  rose  among  the  crowd.  His 
riches  seemed  exhaustless.  At  length,  however,  all  was 
brought.  The  chief  stood  up,  and,  opening  his  hands 
to  them  in  the  Indian  gesture  for  giving,  said,  — 

"  There  is  all  that  was  Multnomah's ;  it  is  yours ; 
your  hands  are  full  now  and  mine  are  empty." 

The  chiefs  and  warriors  rose  up  gravely  and  went 
among  the  heaps  of  treasure;  each  selecting  from 
furs  and  skins,  arms  and  hiagua  shells,  that  which  he 
desired.  There  was  no  unseemly  haste  or  snatching ; 
a  quiet  decorum  prevailed  among  them.  The  women 
and  children  were  excluded  from  sharing  in  these 
gifts,  but  provisions  —  dried  meats  and  berries,  and 
bread  of  camas  or  Wappatto  root  —  were  thrown 
among  them  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  where 
they  were  gathered.  And  unlike  the  men,  they 
scrambled  for  it  like  hungry  animals ;  save  where  here 
and  there  the  wife  or  daughter  of  a  chief  stood  looking 
disdainfully  on  the  food  and  those  who  snatched  at  it. 

Such  giving  of  gifts,  or  potlatches,  are  still  known 
among  the  Indians.  On  Puget  Sound  and  the  Okan- 
ogan,  one  occasionally  hears  of  some  rich  Indian 
making  a  great  potlatch,  —  giving  away  all  his  pos 
sessions,  and  gaining  nothing  but  a  reputation  for 
disdain  of  wealth,  a  reputation  which  only  Indian 
stoicism  would  crave.  Multnomah's  object  was  not 
that  so  much  as  to  make,  before  the  dispersal  of  the 
tribes,  a  last  and  most  favorable  impression. 

When  the  presents  were  all  divided,  the  chiefs  re 
sumed  their  places  to  hear  the  last  speech  of  Multno 
mah,  —  the  speech  that  closed  the  council. 


246  THE  BRIDGE   OF   THE   GODS. 

It  was  a  masterpiece  of  dignity,  subtility,  and  com 
mand.  The  prophecy  of  Tohomish  was  evaded,  the 
fall  of  the  Bridge  wrested  into  an  omen  propitious  to 
the  Willamettes ;  and  at  last  his  hearers  found  them 
selves  believing  as  he  wished  them  to  believe,  without 
knowing  how  or  why,  so  strongly  did  the  overmaster 
ing  personality  of  Multnomah  penetrate  and  sway 
their  lesser  natures.  He  particularly  dwelt  on  the 
idea  that  they  were  all  knit  together  now  and  were  as 
one  race.  Yet  through  the  smooth  words  ran  a  latent 
threat,  a  covert  warning  of  the  result  of  any  revolt 
against  his  authority  based  on  what  plotting  dreamers 
might  say  of  the  fall  of  the  Bridge,  —  a  half-expressed 
menace,  like  the  gleam  of  a  sword  half  drawn  from 
the  scabbard.  And  he  closed  by  announcing  that 
ere  another  spring  the  young  men  of  all  the  tribes 
would  go  on  the  war-path  against  the  Shoshones  and 
come  back  loaded  with  spoil.  And  so,  kindling  the 
hatred  of  the  chiefs  against  the  common  enemy, 
Multnomah  closed  the  great  council. 

In  a  little  while  the  camp  was  all  astir  with  prepa 
ration  for  departure.  Lodges  were  being  taken  down, 
the  mats  that  covered  them  rolled  up  and  packed 
on  the  backs  of  horses;  all  was  bustle  and  tumult. 
Troop  after  troop  crossed  the  river  and  took  the  trail 
toward  the  upper  Columbia. 

But  when  the  bands  passed  from  under  the  personal 
influence  of  Multnomah,  they  talked  of  the  ominous 
things  that  had  just  happened;  they  said  to  each 
other  that  the  Great  Spirit  had  forsaken  the  Wil 
lamettes,  and  that  when  they  came  into  the  valley 
again  it  would  be  to  plunder  and  to  slay.  Multnomah 
had  stayed  the  tide  but  for  a  moment.  The  fall  of 


THE  MARRIAGE  AND  THE  BREAKING  UP.     247 

the  ancient  tomanowos  of  the  Willamettes  had  a  tre 
mendous  significance  to  the  restless  tributaries,  and 
already  the  confederacy  of  the  Wauna  was  crumbling 
like  a  rope  of  sand.  Those  tribes  would  meet  no 
more  in  peace  on  the  island  of  council. 


248  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 


CHAPTER   III. 

AT    THE    CASCADES. 

Wails  on  the  wind,  fades  out  the  sunset  quite, 
And  in  my  heart  and  on  the  earth  is  night. 

PHILIP  BOURKE  MARSTON. 

THE  main  body  of  Snoqualmie's  followers  crossed 
to  the  north  bank  of  the  Columbia  and  took 
the  trail  leading  up  the  river  toward  the  inland  prai 
ries.  But  Snoqualmie  and  Wallulah  went  by  canoe  as 
far  as  the  now  ruined  Bridge  of  the  Gods.  There 
were  three  canoes  in  their  train.  Snoqualmie  and 
Wallulah  occupied  the  first ;  the  other  two  were  laden 
with  the  rich  things  that  had  once  made  her  lodge  so 
beautiful.  It  stood  all  bare  and  deserted  now,  the 
splendor  stripped  from  its  rough  bark  walls  even  as 
love  and  hope  had  been  reft  from  the  heart  of  its 
mistress.  Tapestries,  divans,  carpets,  mirrors,  were 
heaped  in  the  canoes  like  spoil  torn  from  the  enemy. 

The  farewell  between  Wallulah  and  her  father  had 
been  sorrowful.  It  was  remembered  afterward,  by 
those  who  were  witnesses  of  it,  that  the  war-chief  had 
shown  a  tenderness  unusual  with  him,  that  he  had 
seemed  reluctant  to  part  with  his  daughter,  and  that 
she  had  clung  to  him,  pale  and  tearful,  as  if  he  were 
her  last  hope  on  earth. 

When  Snoqualmie  took  her  hand  to  lead  her  away, 
she  shuddered,  withdrew  her  fingers  from  his  clasp, 


AT  THE   CASCADES.  249 

and  walked  alone  to  the  canoe.  He  entered  after 
her;  the  canoe-men  dipped  their  paddles  into  the 
water,  and  the  vessel  glided  away  from  the  island. 

She  sat  reclining  on  a  heap  of  furs,  her  elbows 
sunk  in  them,  her  cheek  resting  on  her  hand,  her 
eyes  turned  back  toward  her  island  home.  Between 
it  and  her  the  expanse  of  waters  grew  ever  broader, 
and  the  trail  the  canoe  left  behind  it  sparkled  in  a 
thousand  silvery  ripples.  The  island,  with  its  green 
prairies  and  its  stately  woods,  receded  fast.  She  felt 
as  she  looked  back  as  if  everything  was  slipping  away 
from  her.  Lonely  as  her  life  had  been  before  Cecil 
came  into  it,  she  had  still  had  her  music  and  her 
beautiful  rooms  in  the  bark  lodge ;  and  they  seemed 
infinitely  sweet  and  precious  now  as  she  recalled  them. 
Oh,  if  she  could  only  have  them  back  again  !  And 
those  interviews  with  Cecil.  How  love  and  grief 
shook  the  little  figure  as  she  thought !  How  loath- 
ingly  she  shrunk  from  the  presence  of  the  barbarian 
at  her  side  !  And  all  the  time  the  island  receded 
farther  and  farther  in  the  distance,  and  the  canoe 
glided  forward  like  a  merciless  fate  bearing  her  on 
and  on  toward  the  savagery  of  the  inland  desert. 

Snoqualmie  sat  watching  her  with  glittering,  trium 
phant  eyes.  To  him  she  was  no  more  than  some 
lovely  animal  of  which  he  had  become  the  owner ; 
and  ownership  of  course  brought  with  it  the  right  to 
tantalize  and  to  torture.  A  malicious  smile  crossed 
his  lips  as  he  saw  how  sorrowfully  her  gaze  rested  on 
her  old  home. 

"  Look  forward,"  he  said,  "  not  back ;  look  forward 
to  your  life  with  Snoqualmie  and  to  the  lodge  that 
awaits  you  in  the  land  of  the  Cayuses." 


250  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

She  started,  and  her  face  flushed  painfully;  then 
without  looking  at  him  she  replied, — 

"  Wallulah  loves  her  home,  and  leaving  it  saddens 
her." 

A  sparkle  of  vindictive  delight  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  Do  the  women  of  the  Willamette  feel  sad  when 
they  go  to  live  with  their  husbands?  It  is  not  so 
with  the  Cayuse  women.  They  are  glad ;  they  care  for 
the  one  they  belong  to.  They  love  to  sit  in  the  sun 
at  the  door  of  the  wigwam  and  say  to  the  other 
women,  '  My  man  is  brave ;  he  leads  the  war  party ; 
he  has  many  scalps  at  his  belt.  Who  is  brave  like 
my  man?"' 

Wallulah  shuddered.  He  saw  it,  and  the  sparkle  of 
malice  in  his  eyes  flashed  into  sudden  anger. 

"  Does  the  young  squaw  tremble  at  these  things  ? 
Then  she  must  get  used  to  them.  She  must  learn  to 
bring  wood  and  water  for  Snoqualmie's  lodge,  too. 
She  must  learn  to  wait  on  him  as  an  Indian's  wife 
ought.  The  old  wrinkled  squaws,  who  are  good  for 
nothing  but  to  be  beasts  of  burden,  shall  teach  her." 

There  came  before  her  a  picture  of  the  ancient 
withered  hags,  the  burden-bearers,  the  human  vam 
pires  of  the  Indian  camps,  the  vile  in  word  and 
deed,  the  first  to  cry  for  the  blood  of  captives,  the 
most  eager  to  give  taunts  and  blows  to  the  helpless ; 
were  they  to  be  her  associates,  her  teachers?  Invol 
untarily  she  lifted  her  hand,  as  if  to  push  from  her  a 
future  so  dreadful. 

"Wallulah  will  bring  the  wood  and  the  water. 
Wallulah  will  work.  The  old  women  need  not  teach 
her." 

"That   is  well.      But  one   thing  more   you  must 


AT  THE   CASCADES.  251 

learn ;  and  that  is  to  hold  up  your  head  and  not  look 
like  a  drooping  captive.  Smile,  laugh,  be  gay.  Sno- 
qualmie  will  have  no  clouded  face,  no  bent  head  in 
his  lodge." 

She  looked  at  him  imploringly.  The  huge  form, 
the  swarthy  face,  seemed  to  dominate  her,  to  crush 
her  down  with  their  barbarian  strength  and  ferocity. 
She  dropped  her  eyes  again,  and  lay  there  on  the 
furs  like  some  frightened  bird  shrinking  from  the 
glance  of  a  hawk. 

"  I  will  work ;  I  will  bear  burdens,"  she  repeated, 
in  a  trembling  tone.  "  But  I  cannot  smile  and  laugh 
when  my  heart  is  heavy." 

He  watched  her  with  a  half  angry,  half  malicious 
regard,  a  regard  that  seemed  ruthlessly  probing  into 
every  secret  of  her  nature. 

She  knew  somehow  that  he  was  aware  of  her  love 
for  Cecil,  and  she  dreaded  lest  he  should  taunt  her 
with  it.  Anything  but  that.  He  knew  it,  and  held 
it  back  as  his  last  and  most  cruel  blow.  Over  his 
bronzed  face  flitted  no  expression  of  pity.  She  was 
to  him  like  some  delicate  wounded  creature  of  the 
forest,  that  it  was  a  pleasure  to  torture.  So  he  had 
often  treated  a  maimed  bird  or  fawn,  —  tantalizing  it, 
delighted  by  its  fluttering  and  its  pain,  till  the  lust 
of  torture  was  gratified  and  the  death-blow  was 
given. 

He  sat  regarding  her  with  a  sneering,  malicious 
look  for  a  little  while  ;  then  he  said,  — 

"  It  is  hard  to  smile  on  Snoqualmie  ;  but  the  white 
man  whom  you  met  in  the  wood,  it  was  not  so  with 
him.  It  was  easy  to  smile  and  look  glad  at  him,  but 
it  is  hard  to  do  so  for  Snoqualmie." 


252  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

Wallulah  shrunk  as  if  he  had  struck  her  a  blow; 
then  she  looked  at  him  desperately,  pleadingly. 

"  Do  not  say  such  cruel  things.  I  will  be  a  faith 
ful  wife  to  you.  I  will  never  see  the  white  man 
again." 

The  sneering  malice  in  his  eyes  gave  way  to  the 
gleam  of  exultant  anger. 

"  Faithful !  You  knew  you  were  to  be  my  woman 
when  you  let  him  put  his  arms  around  you  and  say 
soft  things  to  you.  Faithful !  You  would  leave 
Snoqualmie  for  him  now,  could  it  be  so.  But  you 
say  well  that  you  will  never  see  him  again." 

She  gazed  at  him  in  terror. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Has  anything  happened  to 
him?  Have  they  harmed  him?  " 

Over  the  chiefs  face  came  the  murderous  expres 
sion  that  was  there  when  he  slew  the  Bannock  war 
rior  at  the  torture  stake. 

"  Harmed  him  !  Do  you  think  that  he  could  meet 
you  alone  and  say  sweet  things  to  you  and  caress 
you,  —  you  who  were  the  same  as  my  squaw,  —  and  I 
not  harm  him?  He  is  dead;  I  slew  him." 

False  though  it  was,  in  so  far  as  Snoqualmie  claimed 
to  have  himself  slain  Cecil,  it  was  thoroughly  in  keep 
ing  with  Indian  character.  White  captives  were  often 
told,  "I  killed  your  brother,"  or,  "This  is  your  hus 
band's  scalp,"  when  perhaps  the  person  spoken  of 
was  alive  and  well. 

"  Dead  !  " 

He  threw  his  tomahawk  at  her  feet. 

"  His  blood  is  on  it.  You  are  Snoqualmie's  squaw ; 
wash  it  off." 

Dead,  dead,  her  lover  was  dead  !    That  was  all  she 


AT  THE   CASCADES.  253 

could  grasp.  Snoqualmie's  insulting  command  passed 
unheeded.  She  sat  looking  at  the  Indian  with  bright, 
dazed  eyes  that  saw  nothing.  All  the  world  seemed 
blotted  out. 

"  I  tell  you  that  he  is  dead,  and  I  slew  him.  Are 
you  asleep  that  you  stare  at  me  so?  Awaken  and 
do  as  I  bid  you ;  wash  your  lover's  blood  off  my 
tomahawk." 

At  first  she  had  been  stunned  by  the  terrible  shock, 
and  she  could  realize  only  that  Cecil  was  dead.  Now 
it  came  to  her,  dimly  at  first,  then  like  a  flash  of  fire, 
that  Snoqualmie  had  slain  him.  All  her  spirit  leaped 
up  in  uncontrollable  hatred.  For  once,  she  was  the 
war-chiefs  daughter.  She  drew  her  skirts  away  from 
the  tomahawk  in  unutterable  horror ;  her  eyes  blazed 
into  Snoqualmie's  a  defiance  and  scorn  before  which 
his  own  sunk  for  the  instant. 

"  You  killed  him  !  I  hate  you.  I  will  never  be 
your  wife.  You  have  thrown  the  tomahawk  between 
us ;  it  shall  be  between  us  forever.  Murderer  !  You 
have  killed  the  one  I  love.  Yes,  I  loved  him ;  and  I 
hate  you  and  will  hate  you  till  I  die." 

The  passion  in  her  voice  thrilled  even  the  canoe- 
men,  and  their  paddle  strokes  fell  confusedly  for  an 
instant,  though  they  did  not  understand ;  for  both 
Wallulah  and  Snoqualmie  had  spoken  in  the  royal 
tongue  of  the  Willamettes.  He  sat  abashed  for  an 
instant,  taken  utterly  by  surprise. 

Then  the  wild  impulse  of  defiance  passed,  and 
the  awful  sense  of  bereavement  came  back  like  the 
falling  of  darkness  over  a  sinking  flame.  Cecil  was 
gone  from  her,  gone  for  all  time.  The  world  seemed 
unreal,  empty.  She  sunk  among  the  furs  like  one 


254  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

stricken  down.  Snoqualmie,  recovering  from  his  mo 
mentary  rebuff,  heaped  bitter  epithets  and  scornful 
words  upon  her ;  but  she  neither  saw  nor  heard, 
and  lay  with  wide,  bright,  staring  eyes.  Her  seem 
ing  indifference  maddened  him  still  more,  and  he 
hurled  at  her  the  fiercest  abuse.  She  looked  at  him 
vaguely.  He  saw  that  she  did  not  even  know  what 
he  was  saying,  and  relapsed  into  sullen  silence.  She 
lay  mute  and  still,  with  a  strained  expression  of  pain 
in  her  eyes.  The  canoe  sped  swiftly  on. 

One  desolating  thought  repeated  itself  again  and 
again,  —  the  thought  of  hopeless  and  irreparable  loss. 
By  it  past  and  present  were  blotted  out.  By  and 
by,  when  she  awoke  from  the  stupor  of  despair  and 
realized  her  future,  destined  to  be  passed  with  the 
murderer  of  her  lover,  what  then?  But  now  she  was 
stunned  with  the  shock  of  a  grief  that  was  mercy 
compared  with  the  awakening  that  must  come. 

They  were  in  the  heart  of  the  Cascade  Mountains, 
and  a  low  deep  roar  began  to  reach  their  ears,  rousing 
and  startling  all  but  Wallulah.  It  was  the  sound  of 
the  cascades,  of  the  new  cataract  formed  by  the  fall 
of  the  Great  Bridge.  Rounding  a  bend  in  the  river 
they  came  in  sight  of  it.  The  mighty  arch,  the  long 
low  mountain  of  stone,  had  fallen  in,  damming  up  the 
waters  of  the  Columbia,  which  were  pouring  over  the 
sunken  mass  in  an  ever-increasing  volume.  Above, 
the  river,  raised  by  the  enormous  dam,  had  spread 
out  like  a  lake,  almost  submerging  the  trees  that  still 
stood  along  the  former  bank.  Below  the  new  falls 
the  river  was  comparatively  shallow,  its  rocky  bed 
half  exposed  by  the  sudden  stoppage  of  the  waters. 

The   Indians  gazed  with  superstitious  awe  on  the 


AT  THE   CASCADES.  255 

vast  barrier  over  which  the  white  and  foaming  waters 
were  pouring.  The  unwonted  roar  of  the  falls,  a  roar 
that  seemed  to  increase  every  moment  as  the  swell 
ing  waters  rushed  over  the  rocks;  the  sight  of  the 
wreck  of  the  mysterious  bridge,  foreshadowing  the 
direst  calamities,  —  all  this  awed  the  wild  children 
of  the  desert.  They  approached  the  falls  slowly  and 
^cautiously. 

A  brief  command  from  Snoqualmie,  and  they  landed 
on  the  northern  side  of  the  river,  not  far  from  the  foot 
of  the  falls.  There  they  must  disembark,  and  the 
canoes  be  carried  around  the  falls  on  the  shoulders 
of  Indians  and  launched  above. 

The  roar  of  the  Cascades  roused  Wallulah  from  her 
stupor.  She  stepped  ashore  and  looked  in  dazed 
wonder  on  the  strange  new  world  around  her.  Sno 
qualmie  told  her  briefly  that  she  must  walk  up  the 
bank  to  the  place  where  the  canoe  was  to  be  launched 
again  above  the  falls.  She  listened  mutely,  and  started 
to  go.  But  the  way  was  steep  and  rocky ;  the  bank 
was  strewn  with  the  debris  of  the  ruined  bridge ;  and 
she  was  unused  to  such  exertion.  Snoqualmie  saw 
her  stumble  and  almost  fall.  It  moved  him  to  a 
sudden  and  unwonted  pity,  and  he  sprang  forward  to 
help  her.  She  pushed  his  hand  from  her  as  if  it  had 
been  the  touch  of  a  serpent,  and  went  on  alone.  His 
eyes  flashed :  for  all  this  the  reckoning  should  come, 
and  soon ;  woe  unto  her  when  it  came. 

The  rough  rocks  bruised  her  delicately  shod  feet, 
the  steep  ascent  took  away  her  breath.  Again  and 
again  she  felt  as  if  she  must  fall ;  but  the  bitter  scorn 
and  loathing  that  Snoqualmie's  touch  had  kindled  gave 
her  strength,  and  at  last  she  completed  the  ascent. 


256  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

Above  the  falls  and  close  to  them,  she  sat  down 
upon  a  rock ;  a  slight,  drooping  figure,  whose  dejected 
pose  told  of  a  broken  heart. 

Before  her,  almost  at  her  feet,  the  pent-up  river  was 
widened  to  a  vast  flood.  Here  and  there  a  half- 
submerged  pine  lifted  its  crown  above  it ;  the  surface 
was  ruffled  by  the  wind,  and  white-crested  waves 
were  rolling  among  the  green  tree-tops.  She  looked 
with  indifference  upon  the  scene.  She  had  not 
heard  that  the  Bridge  had  fallen,  and  was,  of  course, 
ignorant  of  these  new  cascades ;  and  they  did  not 
impress  her  as  being  strange. 

Her  whole  life  was  broken  up ;  all  the  world  ap 
peared  shattered  by  the  blow  that  had  fallen  on  her, 
and  nothing  could  startle  her  now.  She  felt  dimly 
that  some  stupendous  catastrophe  had  taken  place ; 
yet  it  did  not  appear  unnatural.  A  strange  sense  of 
unreality  possessed  her;  everything  seemed  an  illu 
sion,  as  if  she  were  a  shadow  in  a  land  of  shadows. 
The  thought  came  to  her  that  she  was  dead,  and 
that  her  spirit  was  passing  over  the  dim  ghost  trail  to 
the  shadow-land.  She  tried  to  shake  off  the  fancy, 
but  all  was  so  vague  and  dreamlike  that  she  hardly 
knew  where  or  what  she  was ;  yet  over  it  all  brooded 
the  consciousness  of  dull,  heavy,  torturing  pain,  like 
the  dumb  agony  that  comes  to  us  in  fevered  sleep, 
burdening  our  dreams  with  a  black  oppressing  weight 
of  horror. 

Her  hand,  hanging  listlessly  at  her  side,  touched 
her  flute,  which  was  still  suspended  from  her  belt  by 
the  golden  chain.  She  raised  it  to  her  lips,  but  only 
a  faint  inharmonious  note  came  from  it.  The  music 
seemed  gone  from  the  flute,  as  hope  was  gone  from 


AT  THE   CASCADES.  257 

her  heart.  To  her  overwrought  nerves,  it  was  the 
last  omen  of  all.  The  flute  dropped  from  her  fin 
gers  ;  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  the 
hot  tears  coursed  slowly  down  her  cheeks. 

Some  one  spoke  to  her,  not  ungently,  and  she 
looked  up.  One  of  the  canoe-men  stood  beside  her. 
He  pointed  to  the  canoe,  now  launched  near  by. 
Snoqualmie  was  still  below,  at  the  foot  of  the  falls, 
superintending  the  removal  of  the  other. 

Slowly  and  wearily  she  entered  the  waiting  canoe 
and  resumed  her  seat.  The  Indian  paddlers  took 
their  places.  They  told  her  that  the  chief  Snoqual 
mie  had  bidden  them  take  her  on  without  him.  He 
would  follow  in  the  other  canoe.  It  was  a  relief  to 
be  free  from  his  presence,  if  only  for  a  little  while ; 
and  the  sadness  on  her  face  lightened  for  a  moment 
when  they  told  her. 

A  few  quick  paddle-strokes,  and  the  boat  shot  out 
into  the  current  above  the  cascades  and  then  glided 
forward.  No,  not  forward.  The  canoe-men,  unfa 
miliar  with  the  new  cataract,  had  launched  their  vessel 
too  close  to  the  falls;  and  the  mighty  current  was 
drawing  it  back.  A  cry  of  horror  burst  from  their 
lips  as  they  realized  their  danger,  and  their  paddles 
were  dashed  into  the  water  with  frenzied  violence. 
The  canoe  hung  quivering  through  all  its  slender 
length  between  the  desperate  strokes  that  impelled 
it  forward  and  the  tremendous  suction  that  drew  it 
down.  Had  they  been  closer  to  the  bank,  they  might 
have  saved  themselves ;  but  they  were  too  far  out  in 
the  current.  They  felt  the  canoe  slipping  back  in 
spite  of  their  frantic  efforts,  slowly  at  first,  then  more 
swiftly ;  and  they  knew  there  was  no  hope. 
17 


258  THE   BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

The  paddles  fell  from  their  hands.  One  boatman 
leaped  from  the  canoe  with  the  desperate  idea  of 
swimming  ashore,  but  the  current  instantly  swept  him 
under  and  out  of  sight;  the  other  sat  motionless  in 
his  place,  awaiting  the  end  with  Indian  stolidity. 

The  canoe  was  swept  like  a  leaf  to  the  verge  of  the 
fall  and  downward  into  a  gulf  of  mist  and  spray.  As 
it  trembled  on  the  edge  of  the  cataract,  and  its  hor 
rors  opened  beneath  her,  Wallulah  realized  her  doom 
for  the  first  time ;  and  in  the  moment  she  realized  it, 
it  was  upon  her.  There  was  a  quick  terror,  a  dream 
like  glimpse  of  white  plunging  waters,  a  deafening 
roar,  a  sudden  terrible  shock  as  the  canoe  was  splin 
tered  on  the  rocks  at  the  foot  of  the  fall ;  then  all 
things  were  swallowed  up  in  blackness,  a  blackness 
that  was  death. 

Below  the  falls,  strong  swimmers,  leaping  into  the 
water,  brought  the  dead  to  land.  Beneath  a  pine- 
tree  that  grew  close  by  the  great  Columbia  trail  and 
not  far  from  the  falls,  the  bodies  were  laid.  The 
daughter  of  Multnomah  lay  in  rude  state  upon  a  fawn- 
skin;  while  at  her  feet  were  extended  the  brawny 
forms  of  the  two  canoe-men  who  had  died  with  her, 
and  who,  according  to  Indian  mythology,  were  to  be 
her  slaves  in  the  Land  of  the  Hereafter.  Her  face 
was  very  lovely,  but  its  mournfulness  remained.  Her 
flute,  broken  in  the  shock  that  had  killed  her,  was 
still  attached  to  her  belt.  The  Indians  had  placed 
her  hand  at  her  side,  resting  upon  the  flute ;  and 
they  noticed  in  superstitious  wonder  that  the  cold 
fingers  seemed  to  half  close  around  it,  as  if  they 
would  clasp  it  lovingly,  even  in  death.  Indian 
women  knelt  beside  her,  fanning  her  face  with  fra- 


AT  THE   CASCADES.  259 

grant  boughs  of  pine.  Troop  after  troop,  returning 
over  the  trail  to  their  homes,  stopped  to  hear  the 
tale,  and  to  gaze  at  the  dead  face  that  was  so  wonder 
fully  beautiful  yet  so  sad. 

All  day  long  the  bands  gathered ;  each  stopping, 
none  passing  indifferently  by.  At  length,  when  even 
ing  came  and  the  shadow  of  the  wood  fell  long  and 
cool,  the  burials  began.  A  shallow  grave  was  scooped 
at  Wallulah's  feet  for  the  bodies  of  the  two  canoe- 
men.  Then  chiefs  —  for  they  only  might  bury  Mult- 
nomah's  daughter  —  entombed  her  in  a  cairn ;  being 
Upper  Columbia  Indians,  they  buried  her,  after  the 
manner  of  their  people,  under  a  heap  of  stone.  Rocks 
and  bowlders  were  built  around  and  over  her  body, 
yet  without  touching  it,  until  the  sad  dead  face  was 
shut  out  from  view.  And  still  the  stones  were  piled 
above  her;  higher  and  higher  rose  the  great  rock- 
heap,  till  a  mighty  cairn  marked  the  last  resting-place 
of  Wallulah.  And  all  the  time  the  women  lifted  the 
death-wail,  and  Snoqualmie  stood  looking  on  with 
folded  arms  and  sullen  baffled  brow.  At  length  the 
work  was  done.  The  wail  ceased;  the  gathering 
broke  up,  and  the  sachems  and  their  bands  rode  away, 
Snoqualmie  and  his  troop  departing  with  them. 

Only  the  roar  of  the  cascades  broke  the  silence,  as 
night  fell  on  the  wild  forest  and  the  lonely  river. 
The  pine-tree  beside  the  trail  swayed  its  branches  in 
the  wind  with  a  low  soft  murmur,  as  if  lulling  the 
sorrow-worn  sleeper  beneath  it  into  still  deeper  re 
pose.  And  she  lay  very  still  in  the  great  cairn,— 
the  sweet  and  beautiful  dead,  —  with  the  grim  warriors 
stretched  at  her  feet,  stern  guardians  of  a  slumber 
never  to  be  broken. 


260  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

MULTNOMAH'S  DEATH-CANOE. 

Gazing  alone 

To  him  are  wild  shadows  shown, 
Deep  under  deep  unknown. 

DANTE  ROSSETTI. 

T  F  Multnomah  was  grieved  at  his  daughter's  death, 
•*•  if  his  heart  sunk  at  the  unforeseen  and  terrible 
blow  that  left  his  empire  without  an  heir  and  with 
ered  all  his  hopes,  no  one  knew  it ;  no  eye  beheld 
his  woe.  Silent  he  had  ever  been,  and  he  was  silent 
to  the  last.  The  grand,  strong  face  only  grew  grander, 
stronger,  as  the  shadows  darkened  around  him ;  the 
unconquerable  will  only  grew  the  fiercer  and  the  more 
unflinching.  But  ere  the  moon  that  shone  first  on 
Wallulah's  new-made  cairn  had  rounded  to  the  full, 
there  was  that  upon  him  before  which  even  his  will 
bowed  and  gave  way,  —  death,  swift  and  mysterious. 
And  it  came  in  this  wise. 

We  have  told  how  at  the  great  potlatch  he  gave 
away  his  all,  even  to  the  bear-skins  from  his  couch,  re 
serving  only  those  cases  of  Asiatic  textures  never  yet 
opened,  —  all  that  now  remained  of  the  richly  laden 
ship  of  the  Orient  wrecked  long  ago  upon  his  coast. 
They  were  opened  now.  His  bed  was  covered  with 
the  magnificent  fabrics ;  they  were  thrown  carelessly 
over  the  rude  walls  and  seats,  half-trailing  on  the 


MULTNOMAWS  DEATH-CANOE.  261 

floor ;  •  exquisite  folds  of  velvet  and  damask  swept  the 
leaves  and  dust,  —  so  that  all  men  might  see  how  rich 
the  chief  still  was,  though  he  had  given  away  so  much. 
And  with  his  ostentation  was  mixed  a  secret  pride 
and  tenderness  that  his  dead  wife  had  indirectly 
given  him  this  wealth.  The  war-chiefs  woman  had 
brought  him  these  treasures  out  of  the  sea ;  and  now 
that  he  had  given  away  his  all,  even  to  the  bare  poles 
of  his  lodge,  she  filled  it  with  fine  things  and  made 
him  rich  again,  —  she  who  had  been  sleeping  for 
years  in  the  death-hut  on  mimaluse  island.  Those 
treasures,  ere  the  vessel  that  carried  them  was 
wrecked,  had  been  sent  as  a  present  from  one  ori 
ental  prince  to  another.  Could  it  be  that  they  had 
been  purposely  impregnated  with  disease,  so  that 
while  the  prince  that  sent  them  seemed  to  bestow  a 
graceful  gift,  he  was  in  reality  taking  a  treacherous 
and  terrible  revenge?  Such  things  were  not  infre 
quent  in  Asiatic  history;  and  even  the  history  of 
Europe,  in  the  middle  ages,  tells  us  of  poisoned 
masks,  of  gloves  and  scarfs  charged  with  disease. 

Certain  it  is  that  shortly  after  the  cases  were 
opened,  a  strange  and  fatal  disease  broke  out  among 
Multnomah's  attendants.  The  howling  of  medicine 
men  rang  all  day  long  in  the  royal  lodge  ;  each  day 
saw  swathed  corpses  borne  out  to  the  funeral  pyre 
or  mimaluse  island.  And  no  concoction  of  herbs,  — 
however  skilfully  compounded  with  stone  mortar 
and  pestle,  —  no  incantation  of  medicine-men  or 
steaming  atmosphere  of  sweat-house,  could  stay  the 
mortality. 

At  length  Multnomah  caught  the  disease.  It  seemed 
strange  to  the  Indians  that  the  war-chief  should  sicken, 


262  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

that  Multnomah  should  show  any  of  the  weaknesses  of 
common  flesh  and  blood;  yet  so  it  was.  But  while 
the  body  yielded  to  the  inroad  of  disease,  the  spirit 
that  for  almost  half  a  century  had  bent  beneath  it  the 
tribes  of  the  Wauna  never  faltered.  He  lay  for  days 
upon  his  couch,  his  system  wasting  with  the  plague, 
his  veins  burning  with  fever,  holding  death  off  only  by 
might  of  will.  He  touched  no  remedies,  for  he  felt 
them  to  be  useless;  he  refused  the  incantations  of 
the  medicine-men;  alone  and  in  his  own  strength 
the  war-chief  contended  with  his  last  enemy. 

All  over  the  Willamette  Valley,  through  camp  and 
fishery,  ran  the  whisper  that  Multnomah  was  dying ; 
and  the  hearts  of  the  Indians  sunk  within  them.  Be 
yond  the  mountains  the  whisper  passed  to  the  allied 
tribes,  once  more  ripe  for  revolt,  and  the  news  rang 
among  them  like  a  trumpet  call ;  it  was  of  itself  a 
signal  for  rebellion.  The  fall  of  the  magic  Bridge,  the 
death  of  Wallulah,  and  the  fatal  illness  of  Multnomah 
had  sealed  the  doom  of  the  Willamettes.  The  chiefs 
stayed  their  followers  only  till  they  knew  that  he  was 
dead.  But  the  grand  old  war-chief  seemed  deter 
mined  that  he  would  not  die.  He  struggled  with 
disease;  he  crushed  down  his  sufferings;  he  fought 
death  with  the  same  silent,  indomitable  tenacity  with 
which  he  had  overthrown  the  obstacles  of  life. 

In  all  his  wasting  agony  he  was  the  war-chief  still, 
and  held  his  subjects  in  his  grip.  To  the  tribes  that 
were  about  to  rebel  he  sent  messages,  short,  abrupt, 
but  terrible  in  their  threat  of  vengeance,  —  messages 
that  shook  and  awed  the  chiefs  and  pushed  back 
invasion.  To  the  last,  the  great  chief  overawed  the 
tribes;  the  generation  mat  had  grown  up  under  the 


MULTNOMAH'S  DEATH-CANOE.  263 

shadow  of  his  tyranny,  even  when  they  knew  he  was 
dying,  still  obeyed  him. 

At  length,  one  summer  evening  a  few  weeks  after 
the  burial  of  Wallulah,  there  burst  forth  from  the  war- 
chief's  lodge  that  peculiar  wail  which  was  lifted  only 
for  the  death  of  one  of  the  royal  blood.  No  need  to 
ask  who  it  was,  for  only  one  remained  of  the  ancient 
line  that  had  so  long  ruled  the  Willamettes ;  and  for 
him,  the  last  of  his  race,  was  the  wail  lifted.  It  was 
re-echoed  by  the  inmates  of  the  surrounding  lodges ; 
it  rang,  foreboding,  mournful,  through  the  encampment 
on  Wappatto  Island. 

Soon,  runners  were  seen  departing  in  every  direc 
tion  to  bear  the  fatal  news  throughout  the  valley. 
Twilight  fell  on  them ;  the  stars  came  out ;  the  moon 
rose  and  sunk;  but  the  runners  sped  on,  from  camp 
to  camp,  from  village  to  village.  Wherever  there  was 
a  cluster  of  Willamette  lodges,  by  forest,  river,  or  sea, 
the  tale  was  told,  the  wail  was  lifted.  So  all  that  night 
the  death-wail  passed  through  the  valley  of  the  Willa 
mette  ;  and  in  the  morning  the  trails  were  thronged 
with  bands  of  Indians  journeying  for  the  last  time  to 
the  isle  of  council,  to  attend  the  obsequies  of  their 
chief,  and  consult  as  to  the  choice  of  one  to  take  his 
place. 

The  pestilence  that  had  so  ravaged  the  household 
of  Multnomah  was  spread  widely  now;  and  every 
band  as  it  departed  from  the  camp  left  death  behind 
it,  —  aye,  took  death  with  it ;  for  in  each  company 
were  those  whose  haggard,  sickly  faces  told  of  disease, 
and  in  more  than  one  were  those  so  weakened  that 
they  lagged  behind  and  fell  at  last  beside  the  trail  to 
die. 


264  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

The  weather  was  very  murky.  It  was  one  of  the 
smoky  summers  of  Oregon,  like  that  of  the  mem 
orable  year  1849,  when  the  smoke  of  wide-spread 
forest  fires  hung  dense  and  blinding  over  Western 
Oregon  for  days,  and  it  seemed  to  the  white  settlers 
as  if  they  were  never  to  breathe  the  clear  air  or  see 
the  sky  again.  But  even  that,  the  historic  "  smoky 
time  "  of  the  white  pioneers,  was  scarcely  equal  to  the 
smoky  period  of  more  than  a  century  and  a  half  be 
fore.  The  forest  fires  were  raging  with  unusual  fury ; 
Mount  Hood  was  still  in  course  of  eruption ;  and  all 
the  valley  was  wrapped  in  settled  cloud  Through 
the  thick  atmosphere  the  tall  firs  loomed  like  spectres, 
while  the  far-off  roar  of  flames  in  the  forest  and  the  in 
termittent  sounds  of  the  volcano  came  weirdly  to  the 
Indians  as  they  passed  on  their  mournful  way.  What 
wonder  that  the  distant  sounds  seemed  to  them  wild 
voices  in  the  air,  prophecying  woe  ;  and  objects  in  the 
forest,  half  seen  through  the  smoke,  grotesque  forms 
attending  them  as  they  marched !  And  when  the 
bands  had  all  gathered  on  the  island,  the  shuddering 
Indians  told  of  dim  and  shadowy  phantoms  that  had 
followed  and  preceded  them  all  the  way;  and  of 
gigantic  shapes  in  the  likeness  of  men  that  had 
loomed  through  the  smoke,  warning  them  back  with 
outstretched  arms.  Ominous  and  unknown  cries  had 
come  to  them  through  the  gloom;  and  the  spirits  of 
the  dead  had  seemed  to  marshal  them  on  their  way, 
or  to  oppose  their  coming,  —  they  knew  not  which. 

So,  all  day  long,  troop  after  troop  crossed  the  river 
to  the  island,  emerging  like  shadows  from  the  smoke 
that  seemed  to  wrap  the  world,  —  each  with  its  sickly 
faces,  showing  the  terrible  spread  of  the  pestilence ; 


MULTNOMAH'S  DEATH-CANOE.  265 

each  helping  to  swell  the  great  horror  that  brooded 
over  all,  with  its  tale  of  the  sick  and  dead  at  home, 
and  the  wild  things  seen  on  the  way.  Band  after  band 
the  tribes  gathered,  and  when  the  sun  went  down  the 
war-chiefs  obsequies  took  place. 

It  was  a  strange  funeral  that  they  gave  Multnomah, 
yet  it  was  in  keeping  with  the  dark,  grand  life  he  had 
lived, 

A  large  canoe  was  rilled  with  pitch  and  with  pine- 
knots,  —  the  most  inflammable  materials  an  Oregon 
forest  could  furnish.  Upon  them  was  heaped  all  that 
was  left  of  the  chiefs  riches,  all  the  silks  and  velvets 
that  remained  of  the  cargo  of  the  shipwrecked  vessel 
lost  upon  the  coast  long  before.  And  finally,  upon 
the  splendid  heap  of  textures,  upon  the  laces  and  the 
damasks  of  the  East,  was  laid  the  dead  body  of  Mult 
nomah,  dressed  in  buckskin;  his  moccasins  on  his 
feet,  his  tomahawk  and  his  pipe  by  his  side,  as  be 
came  a  chief  starting  on  his  last  journey. 

Then  as  night  came  on,  and  the  smoky  air  dark 
ened  into  deepest  gloom,  the  canoe  was  taken  out 
into  the  main  current  of  the  Columbia,  and  fire  was 
set  to  the  dry  knots  that  made  up  the  funeral  pyre. 
In  an  instant  the  contents  of  the  canoe  were  in  a 
blaze,  and  it  was  set  adrift  in  the  current.  Down  the 
river  it  floated,  lighting  the  night  with  leaping  flames. 
On  the  shore,  the  assembled  tribe  watched  it  in  si 
lence,  mute,  dejected,  as  they  saw  their  great  chief 
borne  from  them  forever.  Promontory  and  dusky 
fir,  gleaming  water  and  level  beach,  were  brought  into 
startling  relief  against  the  background  of  night,  as  the 
burning  vessel  neared  them  ;  then  sank  into  shadow  as 
it  passed  onward.  Overhead,  the  playing  tongues  of 


266  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

fire  reddened  the  smoke  that  hung  dense  over  the 
water,  and  made  it  assume  distorted  and  fantastic 
shapes,  which  moved  and  writhed  in  the  wavering 
light,  and  to  the  Indians  seemed  spectres  of  the  dead, 
hovering  over  the  canoe,  reaching  out  their  arms  to 
receive  the  soul  of  Multnomah. 

"  It  is  the  dead  people  come  for  him,"  the  Willa- 
mettes  whispered  to  one  another,  as  they  stood  upon 
the  bank,  watching  the  canoe  drift  farther  and  farther 
from  them,  with  the  wild  play  of  light  and  shadow 
over  it.  Down  the  river,  like  some  giant  torch  that 
was  to  light  the  war- chief  along  the  shadowy  ways 
of  death,  passed  the  burning  canoe.  Rounding  a 
wooded  point,  it  blazed  a  moment  brilliantly  beside 
it,  and  as  it  drifted  to  the  farther  side,  outlined  the 
intervening  trees  with  fire,  till  every  branch  was 
clearly  relieved  against  a  flaming  background ;  then, 
passing  slowly  on  beyond  the  point,  the  light  waned 
gradually,  and  at  last  faded  quite  away. 

And  not  till  then  was  a  sound  heard  among  the 
silent  and  impassive  throng  on  the  river-bank.  But 
when  the  burning  canoe  had  vanished  utterly,  when 
black  and  starless  night  fell  again  on  wood  and  water, 
the  death-wail  burst  from  the  Indians  with  one  im 
pulse  and  one  voice,  —  a  people's  cry  for  its  lost 
chief,  a  great  tribe's  lament  for  the  strength  and  glory 
that  had  drifted  from  it,  never  to  return. 

Among  a  superstitious  race,  every  fact  becomes 
mingled  more  or  less  with  fable;  every  occurrence, 
charged  with  fantastic  meanings.  And  there  sprang 
up  among  the  Indians,  no  one  could  tell  how,  a  pro 
phecy  that  some  night  when  the  Willamettes  were 


MULTNOMAH'S  DEATH-CANOE.  267 

in  their  direst  need,  a  great  light  would  be  seen 
moving  on  the  waters  of  the  Columbia,  and  the  war- 
chief  would  come  back  in  a  canoe  of  fire  to  lead 
them  to  victory  as  of  old. 

Dire  and  awful  grew  their  need  as  the  days  went 
on ;  swift  and  sweeping  was  the  end.  Long  did  the 
few  survivors  of  his  race  watch  and  wait  for  his  re 
turn, —  but  never  more  came  back  Multnomah  to 
his  own. 


268  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE  GODS. 


CHAPTER  V. 

AS   WAS   WRIT   IN  THE    BOOK   OF   FATE. 

A  land  of  old  upheaven  from  the  abyss 
By  fire,  to  sink  into  the  abyss  again, 
Where  fragments  of  forgotten  peoples  dwelt. 

TENNYSON. 

A  ND  now  our  tale  draws  to  a  close.  There  re- 
•**•  mains  but  to  tell  how  the  last  council  was  held 
on  Wappatto  Island ;  how  Mishlah  the  Cougar,  chief 
of  the  Mollalies,  died ;  and  how  the  prophecy  of  the 
Bridge  was  fulfilled. 

The  morning  after  the  obsequies  of  Multnomah, 
the  chiefs  met  in  the  grove  where  the  great  council 
of  the  tribes  had  been  held  only  a  few  weeks  before. 
The  leaves,  which  had  been  green  and  glossy  then, 
were  turning  yellow  and  sickly  now  in  the  close  hot 
weather.  All  Nature  seemed  full  of  decay. 

The  chiefs  were  grouped  before  the  vacant  seat  of 
Multnomah ;  and  the  Willamette  tribe,  gathered  from 
canyon  and  prairie  and  fishery,  looked  on,  sole  spec 
tators  of  the  proceedings,  —  for  none  of  the  allies 
were  present.  The  ravages  of  the  pestilence  had  been 
terrible.  Many  warriors  were  missing  from  the  spec 
tators;  many  chiefs  were  absent  from  the  council. 
And  there  were  some  present  from  whom  the  others 
shrunk  away,  whose  hot  breath  and  livid  faces  showed 


AS  WAS  WRIT  IN  THE  BOOK  OF  FATE.     269 

that  they  too  were  stricken  with  the  plague.  There 
were  emaciated  Indians  among  the  audience,  whose 
gaunt  forms  and  hollow  eyes  told  that  they  had 
dragged  themselves  to  the  council-grove  to  die.  The 
wailing  of  the  women  at  the  camp,  lamenting  those  just 
dead ;  the  howling  of  the  medicine- men  in  the  dis 
tance,  performing  their  incantations  over  the  sick ;  the 
mysterious  sounds  that  came  from  the  burning  forest 
and  the  volcano,  —  all  these  were  heard.  Round 
the  council  the  smoke  folded  thick  and  dark,  veiling 
the  sun,  and  shutting  out  the  light  of  heaven  and 
the  mercy  of  the  Great  Spirit. 

The  chiefs  sat  long  in  silence,  each  waiting  for 
the  other  to  speak.  At  length  arose  a  stately  war 
rior  famous  among  the  Willamettes  for  wisdom  and 
prudence. 

"  We  perish,"  said  the  chief,  "  we  melt  away  before 
the  breath  of  the  pestilence,  like  snow  before  the 
breath  of  the  warm  spring  wind.  And  while  we  die 
of  disease  in  our  lodges,  war  gathers  against  us  be 
yond  the  ranges.  Even  now  the  bands  of  our  en 
emies  may  be  descending  the  mountains,  and  the 
tomahawk  may  smite  what  the  disease  has  spared. 
What  is  to  be  done?  What  say  the  wise  chiefs  of 
the  Willamettes  ?  Multnomah's  seat  is  empty :  shall 
we  choose  another  war-chief?" 

A  pale  and  ghastly  chief  rose  to  reply.  It  was 
evident  that  he  was  in  the  last  extremity  of  disease. 

"Shall  we  choose  another  war-chief  to  sit  in 
Multnomah's  place  ?  We  may ;  but  will  he  be  Mult- 
nomah  ?  The  glory  of  the  Willamettes  is  dead  ! 
Talk  no  more  of  war,  when  our  war-strength  is  gone 
from  us.  The  Bridge  is  fallen,  the  Great  Spirit  is 


270      THE  BRIDGE  OF  THE  GODS. 

against  us.  Let  those  who  are  to  live  talk  of  war. 
It  is  time  for  us  to  learn  how  to  die." 

He  sunk  flushed  and  exhausted  upon  the  ground. 
Then  rose  an  aged  chief,  so  old  that  it  seemed  as  if 
a  century  of  time  had  passed  over  him.  His  hair 
was  a  dirty  gray,  his  eyes  dull  and  sunken,  his 
face  withered.  He  supported  himself  with  tremulous 
bony  hands  upon  his  staff.  His  voice  was  feeble,  and 
seemed  like  an  echo  from  the  long-perished  past. 

"  I  am  old,  the  oldest  of  all  the  Willamettes.  I 
have  seen  so  many  winters  that  no  man  can  count 
them.  I  knew  Multnomah's  father.  I  went  forth  to 
battle  with  his  father's  father ;  and  even  before  that 
I  knew  others,  warriors  of  a  forgotten  time.  Or  do 
I  dream?  I  know  not.  The  weight  of  the  time 
that  I  have  lived  is  very  heavy,  and  my  mind  sinks 
under  it.  My  form  is  bowed  with  the  burden  of 
winters.  Warriors,  I  have  seen  many  councils,  many 
troubles,  but  never  a  trouble  like  this.  Of  what  use 
is  your  council?  Can  the  words  of  wise  men  stay 
disease?  Can  the  edge  of  the  tomahawk  turn  back 
sickness?  Can  you  fight  against  the  Great  Spirit? 
He  sent  the  white  man  to  tell  us  of  our  sins  and 
warn  us  to  be  better,  and  you  closed  your  ears  and 
would  not  listen.  Nay,  you  would  have  slain  him 
had  not  the  Great  Spirit  taken  him  away.  These 
things  would  not  have  come  upon  us  had  you  listened 
to  the  white  shaman.  You  have  offended  the  Great 
Spirit,  and  he  has  broken  the  Bridge  and  sent  disease 
upon  us ;  and  all  that  your  wisdom  may  devise  can 
avail  naught  to  stay  his  wrath.  You  can  but  cover 
your  faces  in  silence,  and  die." 

For   a   moment   the   council  was  very  still.     The 


AS  WAS  WRIT  IN  THE  BOOK  OF  FA  TE.  271 

memory  of  the  white  wanderer,  his  strong  and  tender 
eloquence,  his  fearless  denunciation,  his  loving  and 
passionate  appeal,  was  on  them  all.  Was  the  Great 
Spirit  angry  with  them  because  they  had  rejected 
him? 

"  Who  talks  of  dying?  "  said  a  fierce  warrior,  start 
ing  to  his  feet.  "  Leave  that  to  women  and  sick 
men  !  Shall  we  stay  here  to  perish  while  life  is  yet 
strong  within  us?  The  valley  is  shadowed  with 
death;  the  air  is  disease;  an  awful  sickness  wastes 
the  people ;  our  enemies  rush  in  upon  us.  Shall  we 
then  lie  down  like  dogs  and  wait  for  death?  No. 
Let  us  leave  this  land ;  let  us  take  our  women  and  chil 
dren,  and  fly.  Let  us  seek  a  new  home  beyond  the 
Klamath  and  the  Shasta,  in  the  South  Land,  where 
the  sun  is  always  warm,  and  the  grass  is  always  green, 
and  the  cold  never  comes.  The  spirits  are  against 
us  here,  and  to  stay  is  to  perish.  Let  us  seek  a  new 
home,  where  the  spirits  are  not  angry ;  even  as  our 
fathers  in  the  time  that  is  far  back  left  their  old  home 
in  the  ice  country  of  the  Nootkas  and  came  hither. 
I  have  spoken." 

His  daring  words  kindled  a  moment's  animation  in 
the  despondent  audience ;  then  the  ceaseless  wailing 
of  the  women  and  the  panting  of  the  sick  chiefs  in 
the  council  filled  the  silence,  and  their  hearts  sank 
within  them  again. 

"  My  brother  is  brave,"  said  the  grave  chief  who 
had  opened  the  council,  "  but  are  his  words  wise  ? 
Many  of  our  warriors  are  dead,  many  are  sick,  and 
Multnomah  is  gone.  The  Willamettes  are  weak ;  it 
is  bitter  to  the  lips  to  say  it,  but  it  is  true.  Our  en 
emies  are  strong.  All  the  tribes  who  were  once  with 


272  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

us  are  against  us.  The  passes  are  kept  by  many 
warriors ;  and  could  we  fight  our  way  through  them 
to  another  land,  the  sickness  would  go  with  us.  Why 
fly  from  the  disease  here,  to  die  with  it  in  some  far-off 
land?" 

"We  cannot  leave  our  own  land,"  said  a  dreamer, 
or  medicine-man.  "The  Great  Spirit  gave  it  to  us, 
the  bones  of  our  fathers  are  in  it.  It  is  our  land," 
he  repeated  with  touching  emphasis.  "The  Wil 
lamette  cannot  leave  his  old  home,  though  the  world 
is  breaking  up  all  around  him.  The  bones  of  our 
people  are  here.  Our  brothers  lie  in  the  death-huts 
on  mimaluse  island ;  —  how  can  we  leave  them  ? 
Here  is  the  place  where  we  must  live ;  here,  if  death 
comes,  must  we  die  !  " 

A  murmur  of  assent  came  from  the  listeners.  It 
voiced  the  decision  of  the  council.  With  stubborn 
Indian  fatalism,  they  would  await  the  end ;  fighting 
the  rebels  if  attacked,  and  sullenly  facing  the  disease 
if  unmolested.  Now  a  voice  was  heard  that  never 
had  been  heard  in  accents  of  despair,  —  a  voice  that 
was  still  fierce  and  warlike  in  its  resentment  of  the 
course  the  council  was  taking.  It  was  the  voice  of 
Mishlah  the  Cougar,  chief  of  the  Mollalies.  He,  too, 
had  the  plague,  and  had  just  reached  the  grove, 
walking  with  slow  and  tottering  steps,  unlike  the 
Mishlah  of  other  days.  But  his  eyes  glittered  with  all 
the  old  ferocity  that  had  given  him  the  name  of 
Cougar.  Alas,  he  was  but  a  dying  cougar  now. 

"Shall  we  stay  here  to  die?"  thundered  the  wild 
chief,  as  he  stood  leaning  on  his  stick,  his  sunken  eyes 
sweeping  the  assembly  with  a  glance  of  fire.  "  Shall 
we  stand  and  tremble  till  the  pestilence  slays  us  all 


AS  WAS  WRIT  IN  THE  BOOK  OF  FATE.     273 

with  its  arrows,  even  as  a  herd  of  deer,  driven  into  a 
deep  gulch  and  surrounded,  stand  till  they  are  shot 
down  by  the  hunters?  Shall  we  stay  in  our  lodges, 
and  die  without  lifting  a  hand?  Shall  disease  burn 
out  the  life  of  our  warriors,  when  they  might  fall  in 
battle  ?  No  !  Let  us  slay  the  women  and  children, 
cross  the  mountains,  and  die  fighting  the  rebels  !  Is 
it  not  better  to  fall  in  battle  like  warriors  than  to 
perish  of  disease  like  dogs?" 

The  chief  looked  from  face  to  face,  but  saw  no  re 
sponsive  flash  in  the  eyes  that  met  his  own.  The 
settled  apathy  of  despair  was  on  every  countenance. 
Then  the  medicine-man  answered,  — 

"  You  could  never  cross  the  mountains,  even  if  we 
did  this  thing.  Your  breath  is  hot  with  disease ;  the 
mark  of  death  is  on  your  face  ;  the  snake  of  the  pesti 
lence  has  bitten  you.  If  we  went  out  to  battle,  you 
would  fall  by  the  wayside  to  die.  Your  time  is  short. 
To-day  you  die." 

The  grim  Mollalie  met  the  speaker's  glance,  and 
for  a  moment  wavered.  He  felt  within  himself  that 
the  words  were  true,  that  the  plague  had  sapped  his 
life,  that  his  hour  was  near  at  hand.  Then  his  hesi 
tation  passed,  and  he  lifted  his  head  with  scornful 
defiance. 

"  So  be  it !  Mishlah  accepts  his  doom.  Come,  you 
that  were  once  the  warriors  of  Multnomah,  but  whose 
hearts  are  become  the  hearts  of  women ;  come  and 
learn  from  a  Mollalie  how  to  die  !  " 

Again  his  glance  swept  the  circle  of  chiefs  as  if 

summoning  them  to  follow  him, — then,  with  weak  and 

staggering  footsteps,  he  left  the  grove  ;  and  it  was  as  if 

the  last  hope  of  the  Willamettes  went  with  him.     The 

18 


274  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

dense  atmosphere  of  smoke  soon  shut  his  form  from 
view.  Silence  fell  on  the  council.  The  hearts  of 
the  Indians  were  dead  within  them.  Amid  their  por 
tentous  surroundings,  —  the  appalling  signs  of  the 
wrath  of  the  Great  Spirit,  —  the  fatal  apathy  which  is 
the  curse  of  their  race  crept  over  them. 

Then  rose  the  medicine-man,  wild  priest  of  a 
wild  and  debasing  superstition,  reverenced  as  one 
through  whom  the  dead  spoke  to  the  living. 

"  Break  up  your  council ! "  he  said  with  fearful  look 
and  gesture.  "  Councils  are  for  those  who  expect  to 
live  !  and  you  !  —  the  dead  call  you  to  them.  Choose 
no  chief,  for  who  will  be  left  for  him  to  rule  ?  You 
talk  of  plans  for  the  future.  Would  you  know  what 
that  future  will  be?  I  will  show  you;  listen  !  "  He 
flung  up  his  hand  as  if  imposing  silence ;  and,  taken 
by  surprise,  they  listened  eagerly,  expecting  to  hear 
some  supernatural  voice  or  message  prophetic  of  the 
future.  On  their  strained  hearing  fell  only  the 
labored  breathing  of  the  sick  chiefs  in  the  council, 
the  ominous  muttering  of  the  far-off  volcano,  and 
loud  and  shrill  above  all  the  desolate  cry  of  the 
women  wailing  their  dead. 

"  You  hear  it  ?  That  death- wail  tells  all  the  future 
holds  for  you.  Before  yonder  red  shadow  of  a  sun  " 
—  pointing  to  the  sun,  which  shone  dimly  through 
the  smoke  —  "  shall  set,  the  bravest  of  the  Mollalies 
will  be  dead.  Before  the  moon  wanes  to  its  close,  the 
Willamette  race  will  have  passed  away.  Think  you 
Multnomah's  seat  is  empty?  The  Pestilence  sits  in 
Multnomah's  place,  and  you  will  all  wither  in  his  hot 
and  poisonous  breath.  Break  up  your  council.  Go 
to  your  lodges.  The  sun  of  the  Willamettes  is  set, 


AS  WAS  WRIT  IN  THE  BOOK  OF  FA  TE.  2  75 

and  the  night  is  upon  us.  Our  wars  are  done ;  our 
glory  is  ended.  We  are  but  a  tale  that  old  men  tell 
around  the  camp-fire,  a  handful  of  red  dust  gathered 
from  mimaluse  island, —  dust  that  once  was  man. 
Go,  you  that  are  as  the  dead  leaves  of  autumn ;  go, 
whirled  into  everlasting  darkness  before  the  wind 
of  the  wrath  of  the  Great  Spirit !  " 

He  flung  out  his  arms  with  a  wild  gesture,  as  if  he 
held  all  their  lives  and  threw  them  forth  like  dead 
leaves  to  be  scattered  upon  the  winds.  Then  he 
turned  away  and  left  the  grove.  The  crowd  of  war 
riors  who  had  been  looking  on  broke  up  and  went 
away,  and  the  chiefs  began  to  leave  the  council,  each 
muffled  in  his  blanket.  The  grave  and  stately  sachem 
who  had  opened  the  council  tried  for  a  little  while  to 
stay  the  fatal  breaking  up,  but  in  vain.  And  when  he 
saw  that  he  could  do  nothing,  he  too  left  the  grove, 
wrapped  in  stoical  pride,  sullenly  resigned  to  what 
ever  was  to  come. 

And  so  the  last  council  ended,  in  hopeless  apathy, 
in  stubborn  indecision,  —  indecision  in  everything 
save  the  recognition  that  a  doom  was  on  them  against 
which  it  was  useless  to  struggle. 

And  Mishlah?  He  returned  to  his  lodge,  painted 
his  face  as  if  he  were  going  to  battle,  and  then  went 
out  to  a  grove  near  the  place  where  the  war-dances  of 
the  tribe  were  held.  His  braves  followed  him ;  others 
joined  them ;  all  watched  eagerly,  knowing  that  the 
end  was  close  at  hand,  and  wondering  how  he  would 
die. 

He  laid  aside  his  blanket,  exposing  his  stripped 
body ;  and  with  his  eagle  plume  in  his  hair  and  his 
stone  tomahawk  in  his  hand,  began  to  dance  the  war- 


276  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE  GODS. 

dance  of  his  tribe  and  to  chant  the  song  of  the  battles 
he  had  fought. 

At  first  his  utterance  was  broken  and  indistinct,  his 
step  feeble.  But  as  he  went  on  his  voice  rang  clearer 
and  stronger ;  his  step  grew  quicker  and  firmer.  Half 
reciting,  half  chanting,  he  continued  the  wild  tale  of 
blood,  dancing  faster  and  faster,  haranguing  louder  and 
louder,  until  he  became  a  flame  of  barbaric  excitement, 
until  he  leaped  and  whirled  in  the  very  madness  of 
raging  passion,  —  the  Indian  war- frenzy. 

But  it  could  not  last  long.  His  breath  came  quick 
and  short ;  his  words  grew  inarticulate ;  his  eyes 
gleamed  like  coals  of  fire ;  his  feet  faltered  in  the 
dance.  With  a  final  effort  he  brandished  and  flung 
his  tomahawk,  uttering  as  he  did  so  a  last  war-cry, 
which  thrilled  all  who  heard  it  as  of  old  when  he  led 
them  in  battle.  The  tomahawk  sunk  to  the  head  in 
a  neighboring  tree,  the  handle  breaking  off  short  with 
the  violence  of  the  shock ;  and  the  chief  fell  back  — 
dead. 

Thus  passed  the  soul  of  the  fierce  Mollalie.  For 
years  afterward,  the  tomahawk  remained  where  it  had 
sunk  in  the  tree,  sole  monument  of  Mishlah.  His 
bones  lay  unburied  beneath,  wasted  by  wind  and  rain, 
till  there  was  left  only  a  narrow  strip  of  red  earth,  with 
the  grass  springing  rankly  around  it,  to  show  where 
the  body  had  been.  And  the  few  survivors  of  the 
tribe  who  lingered  in  the  valley  were  wont  to  point 
to  the  tomahawk  imbedded  in  the  tree,  and  tell  the 
tale  of  the  warrior  and  how  he  died. 

Why  dwell  longer  on  scenes  so  terrible  ?  Besides, 
there  is  but  little  more  to  tell.  The  faithless  allies 
made  a  raid  on  the  valley ;  but  the  shrouding  atmo- 


AS  WAS  WRIT  IN  THE  BOOK  OF  FA  TE.     277 

sphere  of  smoke  and  the  frightful  rumors  they  heard 
of  the  great  plague  appalled  them,  and  they  retreated. 
The  pestilence  protected  the  Willamettes.  The  Black 
Death  that  the  medicine-men  saw  sitting  in  Multno- 
mah's  place  turned  back  the  tide  of  invasion  better 
than  the  war-chief  himself  could  have  done. 

Through  the  hot  months  of  summer  the  mortality 
continued.  The  valley  was  swept  as  with  the  besom 
of  destruction,  and  the  drama  of  a  people's  death  was 
enacted  with  a  thousand  variations  of  horror.  When 
spring  came,  the  invaders  entered  the  valley  once 
more.  They  found  it  deserted,  with  the  exception 
of  a  few  wretched  bands,  sole  survivors  of  a  mighty 
race.  They  rode  through  villages  where  the  decaying 
mats  hung  in  tatters  from  the  half-bare  skeleton-like 
wigwam  poles,  where  the  ashes  had  been  cold  for 
months  at  the  camp-fires;  they  rode  by  fisheries 
where  spear  and  net  were  rotting  beside  the  canoe 
upon  the  beach.  And  the  dead  —  the  dead  lay  every 
where  :  in  the  lodges,  beside  the  fisheries,  along  the 
trail  where  they  had  been  stricken  down  while  try 
ing  to  escape,  —  everywhere  were  the  ghastly  and 
repulsive  forms. 

The  spirit  of  the  few  survivors  was  broken,  and 
they  made  little  resistance  to  the  invaders.  Mongrel 
bands  from  the  interior  and  the  coast  settled  in  the 
valley  after  the  lapse  of  years ;  and,  mixing  with  the 
surviving  Willamettes,  produced  the  degenerate  race 
our  own  pioneers  found  there  at  their  coming.  These 
hybrids  were,  within  the  memory  of  the  white  man, 
overrun  and  conquered  by  the  Yakimas,  who  sub 
jugated  all  the  Indians  upon  Wappatto  Island  and 
around  the  mouth  of  the  Willamette  in  the  early 


278  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE   GODS. 

part  of  the  present  century.  Later  on,  the  Yakimas 
were  driven  back  by  the  whites ;  so  that  there  have 
been  three  conquests  of  the  lower  Willamette  Valley 
since  the  fall  of  the  ancient  race,  —  two  Indian 
conquests  before  the  white. 

The  once  musical  language  of  the  Willamettes  has 
degenerated  into  the  uncouth  Chinook,  and  the  blood 
of  the  ancient  race  flows  mixed  and  debased  in  the 
veins  of  abject  and  squalid  descendants;  but  the 
story  of  the  mighty  bridge  that  once  spanned  the 
Columbia  at  the  Cascades  is  still  told  by  the  Oregon 
Indians.  Mingled  with  much  of  fable,  overlaid  with 
myth  and  superstition,  it  is  nevertheless  one  of  the 
historic  legends  of  the  Columbia,  and  as  such  will 
never  be  forgotten. 

One  word  more  of  Cecil  Gray,  and  our  tale  is  done. 

The  Shoshone  renegade,  who  resolved  at  Cecil's 
death  to  become  a  Christian,  found  his  way  with  a 
few  followers  to  the  Flat-Heads,  and  settled  among 
that  tribe.  He  told  them  of  what  he  had  learned 
from  Cecil,  —  of  the  Way  of  Peace ;  and  the  wise 
men  of  the  tribe  pondered  his  sayings  in  their  hearts. 
The  Shoshone  lived  and  died  among  them ;  but  from 
generation  to  generation  the  tradition  of  the  white 
man's  God  was  handed  down,  till  in  1832  four  Flat- 
Heads  were  sent  by  the  tribe  to  St.  Louis,  to  ask  that 
teachers  be  given  them  to  tell  them  about  God. 

Every  student  of  history  knows  how  that  appeal 
stirred  the  heart  of  the  East,  and  caused  the  sending 
out  of  the  first  missionaries  to  Oregon ;  and  from  the 
movement  then  inaugurated  have  since  sprung  all  the 
missions  to  the  Indians  of  the  West. 


AS  WAS  WRIT  IN  THE  BOOK  OF  FA  TE.  2  79 

Thus  he  who  gave  his  life  for  the  Indians,  and  died 
seemingly  in  vain,  sowed  seed  that  sprung  up  and 
bore  a  harvest  long  after  his  death.  And  to-day,  two 
centuries  since  his  body  was  laid  in  the  lonely  grave 
on  Wappatto  Island,  thousands  of  Indians  are  the 
better  for  his  having  lived.  No  true,  noble  life  can  be 
said  to  have  been  lived  in  vain.  Defeated  and  beaten 
though  it  may  seem  to  have  been,  there  has  gone 
out  from  it  an  influence  for  the  better  that  has  helped 
in  some  degree  to  lighten  the  great  heartache  and 
bitterness  of  the  world.  Truth,  goodness,  and  self- 
sacrifice  are  never  beaten,  —  no,  not  by  death  itself. 
The  example  and  the  influence  of  such  things  is 
deathless,  and  lives  after  the  individual  is  gone, 
flowing  on  forever  in  the  broad  life  of  humanity. 

I  write  these  last  lines  on  Sauvie's  Island  —  the 
Wappatto  of  the  Indians,  —  sitting  upon  the  bank  of 
the  river,  beneath  the  gnarled  and  ancient  cotton- 
wood  that  still  marks  the  spot  where  the  old  Columbia 
trail  led  up  from  the  water  to  the  interior  of  the  island. 
Stately  and  beautiful  are  the  far  snow-peaks  and  the 
sweeping  forests.  The  woods  are  rich  in  the  colors 
of  an  Oregon  autumn.  The  white  wappatto  blooms 
along  the  marshes,  its  roots  ungathered,  the  dusky 
hands  that  once  reaped  the  harvest  long  crumbled 
into  dust.  Blue  and  majestic  in  the  sunlight  flows 
the  Columbia,  river  of  many  names,  —  the  Wauna 
and  Wemath  of  the  Indians,  the  St.  Roque  of  the 
Spaniards,  the  Oregon  of  poetry,  —  always  vast  and 
grand,  always  flowing  placidly  to  the  sea.  Steam 
boats  of  the  present;  batteaux  of  the  fur  traders; 
ships,  Grey's  and  Vancouver's,  of  discovery;  Indian 


280  THE  BRIDGE   OF  THE    GODS. 

canoes  of  the  old  unknown  time,  —  the  stately  river 
has  seen  them  all  come  and  go,  and  yet  holds  its 
way  past  forest  and  promontory,  still  beautiful  and  un 
changing.  Generation  after  generation,  daring  hunter, 
ardent  discoverer,  silent  Indian,  —  all  the  shadowy 
peoples  of  the  past  have  sailed  its  waters  as  we  sail 
them,  have  lived  perplexed  and  haunted  by  mystery 
as  we  live,  have  gone  out  into  the  Great  Darkness 
with  hearts  full  of  wistful  doubt  and  questioning,  as  we 
go ;  and  still  the  river  holds  its  course,  bright,  beauti 
ful,  inscrutable.  It  stays  ;  we  go.  Is  there  anything 
beyond  the  darkness  into  which  generation  follows 
generation  and  race  follows  race  ?  Surely  there  is  an 
after-life,  where  light  and  peace  shall  come  to  all 
who,  however  defeated,  have  tried  to  be  true  and 
loyal ;  where  the  burden  shall  be  lifted  and  the  heart 
ache  shall  cease;  where  all  the  love  and  hope  that 
slipped  away  from  us  here  shall  be  given  back  to 
us  again,  and  given  back  forever. 

Via  crucis,  via  lucis. 


THE  END. 


UPTON'S  HANDBOOKS  ON  MUSIC. 

Comprising    The   Standard   Operas,    The  Standard   Oratorios, 
The  Standard  Cantatas,   The  Standard  Symphonies. 

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Of  the  Standard  Operas,  R.  H.  Stoddard,  in  "  Evening  Mail 
and  Express"  (New  York)  says: 

"Among  the  multitude  of  handbooks  described  by  easy-going  writers 
of  book-notices  as  supplying  a  long-felt  want,  we  know  of  none  which  so 
completely  carries  out  the  intention  of  the  writer  as  'The  Standard 
Operas,'  by  Mr.  George  P.  Upton,  whose  object  is  to  present  to  his 
readers  a  comprehensive  sketch  of  each  of  the  operas  contained  in  the 
modern  repertory.  .  .  .  There  are  thot  sands  of  music-loving  people 
who  will  be  glad  to  have  the  kind  of  knowledge  which  Mr.  Upton  has 
collected  for  their  benefit,  and  has  cast  in  a  clear  and  compact  form." 

Of  the  Standard  Oratorios,  the  "Nation"  (New  York)  says: 

"  Music-lovers  are  under  a  new  obligation  to  Mr.  Upton  for  this 
companion  to  his  "Standard  Operas,"  —  two  books  which  deserve  to 
be  placed  on  the  same  shelf  with  Grove's  and  Riemann's  musical 
dictionaries." 

Of  the  Standard  Cantatas,  the  u  Boston  Post"  says: 

"  Mr.  Upton  has  done  a  genuine  service  to  the  cause  of  music  and  to 
all  music-lovers  in  the  preparation  of  this  work,  and  that  service  is  none 
the  less  important  in  that  while  wholly  unassuming  and  untechnical, 
it  is  comprehensive,  scholarly,  and  thorough." 

Of    the   Standard   Symphonies,  the    "  Home  Journal  "    (New 
York)  says : 

"None  who  have  seen  the  previous  books  of  Mr.  Upton  will  need 
assurance  that  this  is  as  indispensable  as  the  others  to  one  who  would 
listen  intelligently  to  that  better  class  of  music  which  musicians  con 
gratulate  themselves  Americans  are  learning  to  appreciatively  enjoy." 


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The  motto,  "Trifles  make  the  sum  of  human  things,"  could 
have  no  better  illustration  than  this  noble  collection  furnishes. 
It  comprises  personal  sobriquets,  familiar  phrases,  popular  appel 
lations,  geographical  nicknames,  literary  pseudonyms,  mythological 
characters,  red-letter  days,  political  slang,  contractions  and  abbre 
viations,  technical  terms,  foreign  words  and  phrases,  American 
isms,  etc.  The  work  is  compiled  after  a  distinct  plan,  and  with 
keen  discrimination  in  regard  to  what  is  admitted  and  what  ex 
cluded.  —  Journal  of  Edttcation,  Boston. 

It  is  original  in  conception,  and  thorough  in  execution.  It 
brings  together,  alphabetically,  a  surprising  number  of  titles  from 
near  and  remote  sources,  that  are  very  necessary  in  reference  when 
thsy  are  not  indispensable  to  the  general  reader.  ...  It  supple 
ments  and  enlarges  the  usefulness  of  every  dictionary  and  all  the 
handbooks  the  dictionary  has  suggested.  —  Globe,  Boston. 

It  must  take  its  place  for  the  time  being  as  the  best  work  of  its 
kind  in  existence,  particularly  as  regards  American  topics.  — Sun, 
New  York. 

There  is  much  matter  in  the  volume  that  has  never  before  been 
collated.  .  .  .  Writers  and  readers  alike  will  find  this  work  ser 
viceable  and  trustworthy.  — Press,  Philadelphia. 

The  book  is  one  of  the  best  compilations  of  its  kind.  —  Critic, 
New  York. 


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HOME  LIFE  OF  GREAT  AUTHORS. 
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A  collection  of  upward  of  thirty  descriptive  sketches,  hav 
ing  for  their  subjects  Byron,  Burns,  the  Brownings,  Bryant,  Bul- 
wer,  Bronte  (Charlotte),  Carlyle,  Dickens,  De  Stae'l,  De  Quincey, 
Eliot  (George),  Emerson,  Fuller  (Margaret),  Irving,  Goethe, 
Hawthorne,  Holmes,  Hugo,  Kingsley,  Lowell,  Lamb,  Long 
fellow,  Macaulay,  North  (Kit),  Poe,  Ruskin,  Shelley,  Scott,  Sand 
(George),  Thackeray,  Tennyson,  Wordsworth,  and  Whittier. 

No  such  excellent  collection  of  brief  biographies  of  literary 
favorites  has  ever  before  appeared  in  this  country.  Mrs.  Gris- 
wold's  taste  and  discretion  are  as  much  to  be  admired  as  her  in 
dustry  in  the  composition  of  these  delightful  sketches.  —  The 
Bulletin,  Philadelphia. 

Most  often  we  have  a  condensed  biography,  with  special  at 
tention  given  to  the  personal  element  in  the  way  of  description, 
anecdote,  reminiscences,  and  other  such  matters  as  a  skilful  col 
lector  could  gather  from  the  plentiful  sources  of  such  information. 
There  is  a  noticeable  good  taste  shown  in  dealing  with  those 
more  intimate  portions  of  the  lives  of  the  heroes  and  heroines,  — 
the  affaires  de  cceur.  — The  Nation,  New  York. 

The  author  has  shown  a  rare  discrimination  in  the  treatment  of 
her  subjects.  And  in  nothing  has  this  faculty  been  better  dis 
played  than  in  her  selection  of  authors.  This  alone  is  a  difficult 
task,  —  one  in  which  any  writer  would  be  sure  to  offend,  at  least 
by  omission.  But  the  table  of  contents  of  this  book  is  a  gratify 
ing  success,  and  the  menu  here  provided  will  abundantly  satisfy 
the  most  of  readers.  —  The  Express,  Buffalo. 


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THE    STORY   OF   TONTY. 

AN    HISTORICAL    ROMANCE. 

By  Mrs.  MARY  HARTWELL  CATHERWOOD. 
I2mo,  224  pages.     Price,  $1.25. 


"  The  Story  of  Tonty  "  is  eminently  a  Western  story,  beginning 
at  Montreal,  tarrying  at  Fort  Frontenac,  and  ending  at  the  old  fort 
at  Starved  Rock,  on  the  Illinois  River.  It  weaves  the  adventures 
of  the  two  great  explorers,  the  intrepid  La  Salle  and  his  faithful 
lieutenant,  Tonty,  into  a  tale  as  thrilling  and  romantic  as  the  de 
scriptive  portions  are  brilliant  and  vivid.  It  is  superbly  illustrated 
with  twenty-three  masterly  drawings  by  Mr.  Enoch  Ward. 

Such  tales  as  this  render  service  past  expression  to  the  cause  of  his 
tory.  They  weave  a  spell  in  which  old  chronicles  are  vivified  and  breathe 
out  human  life  Mrs.  Catherwood,  in  thus  bringing  out  from  the  treasure- 
houses  of  half-forgotten  historical  record  things  new  and  old,  has  set  her 
self  one  of  the  worthiest  literary  tasks  of  her  generation,  and  is  showing 
herself  finely  adequate  to  its  fulfilment.  —  Transcript,  Boston. 

A  powerful  story  by  a  writer  newly  sprung  to  fame.  .  .  .  All  the 
century  we  have  been  waiting  for  the  deft  hand  that  could  put  flesh  upon 
the  dry  bones  of  our  early  heroes.  Here  is  a  recreation  indeed.  .  .  .  One 
comes  from  the  reading  of  the  romance  with  a  quickened  interest  in  our 
early  national  history,  and  a  profound  admiration  for  the  art  that  can  so 
transport  us  to  the  dreamful  realms  where  fancy  is  monarch  of  fact.  — 
Press,  Philadelphia. 

"The  Story  of  Tonty"  is  full  of  the  atmosphere  of  its  time.  It 
betrays  an  intimate  and  sympathetic  knowledge  of  the  great  age  of  ex 
plorers,  and  it  is  altogether  a  charming  piece  of  work.  —  Christian 
Union,  New  York. 

Original  in  treatment,  in  subject,  and  in  all  the  details  of  mise  en 
scene,  it  must  stand  unique  among  recent  romances.  — News,  Chicago. 


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THE  GREAT  FRENCH  WRITERS. 

A  Series  of  Studies  of  the  Lives,  Works,  and  Influence 

of  the  Great  Writers  of  the  Past,  by  Great  Writers 

of  the  Present.     Comprising — 

MADAME  DE  SEVIGNE.     By  Gaston  Boissier. 
GEORGE  SAND.     By  E.  Caro. 

MONTESQUIEU.     By  Albert  Sorel. 

VICTOR  COUSIN.     By  Jules  Simon. 
TURGOT.     By  Leon  Say. 

THIERS.     By  Paul  de  Remusat. 

With  other  volumes  in  preparation.  Translated  by  Prof.  MEL 
VILLE  B.  ANDERSON  and  Prof.  EDWARD  PLAYFAIR  ANDER 
SON.  i2mo.  Price,  $1.00  per  volume. 

In  half  morocco,  gilt  top,  $2.50. 


No  writers  of  the  century  have  exerted  more  influence  upon  English 
and  American  thought  than  the  writers  of  France,  whether  in  fiction, 
in  criticism,  or  in  metaphysics.  ...  It  was  fortunate  for  Americans 
especially  that  the  scheme  was  conceived  of  having  eminent  French 
writers  of  this  generation  prepare  monographs  upon  the  great  writers 
of  past  generations  whose  books  are  still  the  living  thought  not  only  of 
their  own  country  but  of  the  age ;  and  the  translation  of  these  mono 
graphs  and  their  republication  in  this  country  is  a  literary  event  of  con 
siderable  importance.  —  Tribune,  Chicago. 

When  the  reader  has  finished  either  of  these  volumes,  he  must  cer 
tainly  lay  it  down  with  the  feeling  that  he  has  been  admitted  into  the 
intimate  life  of  the  great  writer  in  whose  charming  company  he  has 
been  spending  a  few  delightful  hours,  and  that  his  knowledge  of  the 
author's  position  in  literature,  and  of  his  influence  in  the  world,  is  sur 
prisingly  enlarged  and  broadened.  —  Nation,  New  York. 

These  French  monographs  have  a  power  of  compression  and  light 
ness  of  touch  which  may  well  appear  marvellous  to  American  readers 
not  acquainted  with  the  Gallic  genius  for  biographical  and  critical 
essays.  — Beacon,  Boston. 


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THE  SURGEON'S  STORIES. 

By  Z.   TOPELIUS,  Professor  of  History,  University  of  Finland. 
Translated  from  the  original  Swedish,  comprising  — 

TIMES  OF  GUSTAF  ADOLF, 

TIMES  OF  BATTLE  AND  REST, 
TIMES  OF  CHARLES  XII., 

TIMES  OF  FREDERICK  I., 

TIMES  OF  LINNAEUS, 

TIMES  OF  ALCHEMY. 
In  cloth,  per  volume,  75  cents. 
The  same,  in  box,  per  set,  $4.50. 


These  stones  have  been  everywhere  received  with  the  greatest  favor. 
They  cover  the  most  interesting  and  exciting  periods  of  Swedish  and 
Finnish  history.  They  combine  history  and  romance,  and  the  two  are 
woven  together  in  so  skilful  and  attractive  a  manner  that  the  reader 
of  one  volume  is  rarely  satisfied  until  he  has  read  all.  Of  their  distin 
guished  author  the  Saturday  Review,  London,  says,  "  He  enjoys  the 
greatest  celebrity  among  living  Swedish  writers;"  and  R.  H.  Stoddard 
has  styled  them  "  the  most  important  and  certainly  the  most  readable 
series  of  foreign  fiction  that  has  been  translated  into  English  for  many 
years."  They  should  stand  on  the  shelves  of  every  library,  public  and 
private,  beside  the  works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

The  Graphic,  New  York,  says: 

"Topelius  is  evidently  a  great  romancer,  —  a  great  romancer  in  the 
manner  of  Walter  Scott.  At  moments  in  his  writing  there  is  positive 
inspiration,  a  truth  and  vivid  reality  that  are  startling." 

The  Sun,  Philadelphia,  says: 

"  We  would  much  prefer  teaching  a  youth  Swedish  history  from  the 
novels  of  Topelius  than  from  any  book  of  strict  historical  narrative." 

The  Standard,  Chicago,  says : 

"The  series  as  a  whole  deserves  a  place  with  the  very  best  fiction  of 
the  present  time.  The  scenery  is  new  to  most  readers;  the  historical 
period  covered  one  of  transcendent  interest ;  the  characters,  the  incidents, 
the  narrative  style  in  each  story  are  of  the  sort  to  carry  the  reader  straight 
through,  from  beginning  to  end,  unwearied,  and  ready,  as  each  volume 
closes,  to  open  the  next  in  order." 


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LIFE     OF     ABRAHAM     LINCOLN, 
By  the  Hon.  ISAAC    N.    ARNOLD.     With   Steel 
Portrait.    8vo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  471  pages.     Price,  $2.50. 

In  half  calf,  $4.75 ;  half  morocco,  $5.00. 


It  is  decidedly  the  best  and  most  complete  Life  of  Lincoln 
that  has  yet  appeared.  —  Contemporary  Review,  London. 

Mr.  Arnold  succeeded  to  a  singular  extent  in  assuming  the 
broad  view  and  judicious  voice  of  posterity  and  exhibiting  the 
greatest  figure  of  our  time  in  its  true  perspective.  —  The  Trib 
une,  New  York. 

It  is  the  only  Life  of  Lincoln  thus  far  published  that  is  likely 
to  live,  —  the  only  one  that  has  any  serious  pretensions  to  depict 
him  with  adequate  veracity,  completeness,  and  dignity.  —  The 
Sun,  New  York. 

The  author  knew  Mr.  Lincoln  long  and  intimately,  and  no  one 
was  better  fitted  for  the  task  of  preparing  his  biography.  He 
has  written  with  tenderness  and  fidelity,  with  keen  discrimina 
tion,  and  with  graphic  powers  of  description  and  analysis.  —  The 
Interior,  Chicago. 

Mr.  Arnold's  "  Life  of  President  Lincoln  "  is  excellent  in 
almost  every  respect.  .  .  .  The  author  has  painted  a  graphic  and 
life-like  portrait  of  the  remarkable  man  who  was  called  to  decide 
on  the  destinies  of  his  country  at  the  crisis  of  its  fate.  —  The 
Times,  London. 

The  book  is  particularly  rich  in  incidents  connected  with  the 
early  career  of  Mr.  Lincoln  ;  and  it  is  without  exception  the 
most  satisfactory  record  of  his  life  that  has  yet  been  written. 
Readers  will  also  find  that  in  its  entirety  it  is  a  work  of  absorb 
ing  and  enduring  interest  that  will  enchain  the  attention  more 
effectually  than  any  novel.  —  Magazine  of  American  History, 
New  York.  ^ 

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AZTECS.     Their    History,    Man- 
-*-      ners,  and  Customs.    From  the  French  of  LUCIEN 
BIART.     Authorized  translation  by  J.  L.  GARNER. 
Illustrated,  8vo,  340  pages,  price,  $2.00. 

The  author  has  travelled  through  the  country  of  whose  former 
glories  his  book  is  a  recital,  and  his  studies  and  discoveries  leaven 
the  book  throughout.  The  volume  is  absorbingly  interesting, 
and  is  as  attractive  in  style  as  it  is  in  material.  —  Saturday 
Evening  Gazette,  Boston. 

Nowhere  has  this  subject  been  more  fully  and  intelligently 
treated  than  in  this  volume,  now  placed  within  reach  of  American 
readers.  The  mythology  of  the  Aztecs  receives  special  attention, 
and  all  that  is  known  of  their  lives,  their  hopes,  their  fears,  and 
aspirations  finds  record  here.—  The  Tribune,  Chicago. 

The  man  who  can  rise  from  the  study  of  Lucien  Biart's  inval 
uable  work,  '' The  Aztecs,"  without  feelings  of  amazement  and 
admiration  for  the  history  and  the  government,  and  for  the  arts 
cultivated  by  these  Romans  of  the  New  World  is  not  to  be 
envied. —  The  Advance,  Chicago. 

The  twilight  origin  of  the  present  race  is  graphically  presented ; 
those  strange  people  whose  traces  have  almost  vanished  from  off 
the  face  of  the  earth  again  live  before  us.  Their  taxes  and  trib 
utes,  their  marriage  ceremonies,  their  burial  customs,  laws, 
medicines,  food,  poetry,  and  dances  are  described  .  .  .  The 
book  is  a  very  interesting  one,  and  is  brought  out  with  copious 
illustrations.  —  The  Traveller^  Boston, 

M.  Biart  is  the  most  competent  authority  living  on  the  sub 
ject  of  the  Aztecs.  He  spent  many  years  in  Mexico,  studied 
his  subject  carefully  through  all  means  of  information,  and  wrote 
his  book  from  the  view-point  of  a  scientist.  His  style  is  very  at 
tractive,  and  it  has  been  very  successfully  translated.  The  gen 
eral  reader,  as  well  as  all  scholars,  will  be  much  taken  with  the 
work.  —  Chronicle  Telegraph^  Pittsburg. 

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Literary  Industries 

By  HUBERT  HOWE  BANCROFT 

New  and  Popular  Edition  just  published  by  Harper  & 
Brothers,  New  York.  Post  8vo,  Cloth,  $1.50.  Net  by 
The  Bancroft  Company,  $1.20. 

This  fascinating  volume  gives,  in  autobiographical  form, 
an  account,  from  inception  to  completion,  of  the  remark 
able  historical  efforts  of  the  author  in  western  North  America, 
the  collecting  and  indexing  of  his  library,  and  the  plans  pur 
sued  in  writing  his  history.  As  remarked  in  Harper's 
Magazine: 

"  The  story  of  the  conception  of  his  great  History,  and  of  the  method 
of  its  composition,  is  told  in  a  manner  at  once  candid,  interesting,  and 
instructive ;  and  his  recollections  and  impressions  of  the  famous  men 
with  whom  he  has  been  thrown  in  contact  are  equally  refreshing  and 
entertaining." 

The  Boston  Transcript  calls  it  "a  book  of  fascinating  interest,  bril 
liantly  written.  It  is  properly  a  history  of  the  History."  And  again : 
"  Piquancy  is,  perhaps,  the  key-note  of  this  volume;  one  can  hardly  open 
it  at  any  place  without  reading  on  indefinitely  and  involuntarily." 

In  a  lengthy  review  the  London  Times  says:  "  Many  English  and 
American  writers  of  eminence,  including  Carlyle,  Herbert  Spencer, 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  Sir  Arthur  Helps,  J.  W.  Draper,  W.  H.  Lecky, 
and  J.  Russell  Lowell,  have  already  testified  to  the  value  of  Mr.  Bancroft's 
labors.  His  works,  in  deed,  are  admirable  for  theirvigor  and  freshness;" 
while  the  British  Quarterly  Review  pronounces  Mr.  Bancroft  "  a  master 
in  narrative."  "  Professor  Royce,"  says  the  New  York  Independent, 
"takes  no  pains  to  conceal  his  generous  admiration  of  the  work  done 
by  Mr.  Bancroft"  The  New  York  Tribune  expresses  the  opinion  that 
"  Mr.  Bancroft's  narrative  might  well  be  adopted  as  a  text-book  in  col 
leges  and  universities,  for  the  strong  light  it  throws  upon  national 
evolution."  John  G.  Whittier  pronounces  his  history  "  one  of  the  noblest 
literary  enterprises  of  the  day."  Clarence  King  says  "it  is  simply  fas 
cinating;"  A.  K.  Spofford,  librarian  of  Congress,  classifies  it  as  "a 
monument  of  literary  and  historical  industry;"  while  Henry  Ward 
Beecher  declares  that  "  the  work  has  no  parallel  in  literature." 


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